


she pales the light of day

by holistic_details



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: College AU, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-11-23 17:05:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holistic_details/pseuds/holistic_details
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>H.G.'s really pretty, Myka thinks. She knew this before of course, and she relearns it every morning H.G. walks into their Comparative Lit. class – but this is a different kind of pretty; softer, and more accessible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. you're burning hot tonight

“Are we just going to sit around all night?” Myka calls, leaning precariously out the window of Pete's not-so-gently used pick up truck.

 

“Don't blow a gasket, Mykes!” She can see Pete rolling his eyes from here. “We'll be there in a minute.”

 

Myka huffs, pulling herself back into the car without hitting her head too hard on the roof. (Which is pretty incredible, she thinks, seeing as this vehicle was probably designed for Snow White's dwarves.)

 

It's bad enough Pete invited his friend Giorgio to join them on their expedition – oh, no. Oh, _no_. If Pete is trying to set her up on a date with his wrestling buddies _again_ , so help her Myka will toss him off a cliff. (Pete, not Giorgio. Giorgio's nice. Overly fanatic about sports, and prone to literally drooling whenever a pretty girl walks by, but nice.)

 

Finally, _finally,_ Pete saunters over, completely ignoring Myka's heated glare. Giorgio follows close behind, nodding a hello at Myka, which she returns warily. It doesn't _seem_ as though he's about to hit on her, but she can never tell with Pete's friends. Pete and Giorgio climb in and get settled.

 

“Can't believe I'm doing this,” Giorgio grumbles, pulling moodily at his seat belt.

 

Myka just shakes her head. She understands some people might not consider studying at South Dakota's biggest and best library a great way to spend a Saturday night, but she is certainly not of that school of thought. Myka leans against her seat, congratulating herself on choosing to sit in the back. There's an incredible amount of legroom back here, and she appreciates being able to stretch out. Pete turns the engine and Myka bounces excitedly, disregarding Giorgio's odd look. She been meaning to go to Central Library since freshman year, but it's a long drive and her coursework _doubled_ when she switched from pre-med to pre-law.

 

It doesn't matter now; she can capitalize on her best friend's stress to visit Central at long last. (Finals have to be good for something, she reasons.) The key turns in the ignition and –

 

“Wait!” someone calls and Myka groans. _So close._

 

“What,” she mumbles to herself, letting her head loll to the side. “Did I ever do to deserve this?”

 

“Pete Lattimer, so glad I caught you.” Myka jerks forward at hearing the voice, still as cultured and smoky as it was the day she bumped into Myka at orientation. The seat belt catches Myka across the shoulder and she falls back with a wince.

 

“H.G.!” Myka doesn't realize she's spoken out loud until three surprised faces turn to face her at once. Myka flushes under the scrutiny, more when H.G. recognizes her.

 

“Myka!” H.G. smiles, blinding in the half-light of street lamps and dormitories. “How long has it been since we last saw each other?” Thankfully, she doesn't seem to hear Myka's stammered attempts at a response. “Come out here,” she continues. “Tell me how you're doing.” Reluctantly, Myka gets out of the car, holding the door in front of her as a shield until the last possible minute – she probably should have worn something heavier than a sweatshirt.

 

“I'm fine,” Myka replies weakly, raising her hand in an approximation of a wave. “Going to go study for the Constitutional Law final.” It's not a class they share; H.G.'s courses focus on engineering and business, but she nods anyway, frowning sympathetically. Myka blows on her hands, trying to warm up. “It shouldn't be too hard,” she adds.

 

“That's good to hear.” H.G. slips her hands into her pockets which, coupled with her smile, is an oddly charming gesture. “We must arrange a meeting soon, I haven't seen you for ages.”

 

It genuinely sounds like an invitation and Myka smiles as she shivers, to think of this incredibly popular, incredibly smart girl ever lacking enough for friends that she would want Myka's company.

 

“Would you like my coat?” H.G. asks suddenly, and Myka snaps out of her daze.

 

“What?” Myka watches in alarm as H.G. makes to unzip her jacket. “No! No, that's okay.” Myka covers H.G.'s hands with her own.

 

H.G. hisses out a breath at Myka's touch. “You're so cold!”

 

“No, it – it's December, H.G., I'm supposed to be cold, don't –”

 

“Well, of course you're going to be cold if you insist on wearing _sweatshirts_ when it's below freezing – ”

 

“I grew up in Colorado!”

 

The girl next to H.G., (who she's completely ignored until now, Myka realizes with a guilty start), clears her throat pointedly, and they fall silent. The blonde isn't someone Myka recognizes, though she has the poise and painted-on clothing that suggests she is way higher on the social hierarchy than Myka.

 

“Right,” Pete draws out the word, eyeing Myka with a look she doesn't like at all. She redoes the small portion of H.G.'s coat that managed to get unzipped and stares pointedly at H.G.'s hands until she puts them back in her pockets, huffing. “Did you ladies need a ride?” He aims a ridiculous smirk at them, and the blonde titters.

 

“We're going to Central Library, Jess.” Giorgio leans out of the passenger seat, in a tone that suggests he still can't believe it. Jess, Myka assumes, is the blonde.

 

“Central?” H.G. tilts her head. “That's even on the way to Evelyn's party.”

 

“Oh, my God, perfect!” Jess chirps. She turns to Pete, almost tripping on her stilettos. “Can we come with?”

 

“Well,” Pete drawls, and Myka just barely keeps from rolling her eyes. She doesn't know why Pete pretends he's seriously thinking about it, they all know he just wants them to pout and bat their eyes like Pete isn't going to say yes eventually.

 

“Darling,” H.G. purrs, and Myka ignores the sharp pull in her belly, tries not to imagine how much stronger it would be if the look and the voice were aimed at her. “Would you mind too terribly?”

 

“Oh, God,” Myka mutters, shoving at Pete, hoping to dislodge the stars in his eyes. “Don't _swoon_ on me.”

 

Pete, after a thorough mock discussion with Giorgio, grandly opens the passenger door for them. Jess immediately clambers into the front seat, practically onto Giorgio's lap.

 

Myka watches bemusedly as the blonde giggles and preens and Giorgio spreads his hands authoritatively all over her body. For one horrible moment, Myka thinks H.G. is going to make like Jess and get into the front seat with Pete and Giorgio. Which wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing, of course. (Unless they got into a car accident and all four of them died, leaving Myka to explain why to campus security...Mrs. Frederic has this way of _looking_ at someone that makes the blood run cold.)

 

Yes, all things considered, Myka is pleased when H.G. climbs in next to her in the backseat. She almost sits on _Constitutional Law: The Machinery of Government,_ but lifts the book out of the way in the nick of time, managing the move look elegant.

 

She doesn't put on her seat belt, Myka notices.

 

H.G.'s eyes trace over the title in the dim light, gracefully settling deeper into her seat. She drums a beat on her knee as she angles herself towards Myka.

 

“If it's any comfort, I'm certain you'll ace your exam,” she says finally.

 

Myka blinks, pleased. “Thank you,” she replies, tugging at the book. H.G. holds it tighter and smiles mischievously, enjoying Myka's flustered irritation. Then Pete's rusty pick-up lurches violently as the engine rumbles to life and H.G.'s grip loosens enough for Myka to pull the textbook free of her grasp.

 

H.G. doesn't seem to mind too much, laughing as she takes advantage of the momentum to get pulled towards Myka. “Hello,” she whispers, breath fanning warmly on Myka's face.

 

“Are you drunk already?” Myka asks, biting back a smile at the slightly glazed look to H.G.'s eyes. She can't help the way her voice lowers to a whisper, or the way she leans into H.G. a little.

 

“Of course not,” H.G. says dismissively, as if Myka can't taste the floral wine smell on her breath. “Just a little,” she admits under Myka's wrinkled nose.

 

 _Why?_ Myka wants to ask, almost does before Helena turns her head suddenly, laughing heartily at something Jess said in the front seat – she and Myka are not friends, she is reminded when Jess grins back. She leans back into her seat, offers Helena a tight smile when their eyes meet. It quickly becomes less forced when H.G. keeps eye contact, and reaches to squeeze Myka's knee with a warmth she wasn't expecting.

 

H.G.'s really pretty, Myka thinks. She knew this before, of course and she relearns it every morning H.G. walks into their Comparative Lit. class – but this is a different kind of pretty, softer and more accessible. Myka shifts uncomfortably, trying to not to stare at her, but it's hard when H.G. is _right there_ and so graceful when she's just sitting and trying to sneak Myka's notebook onto her lap.

 

“Hey!” Myka protests, pulling it back.

 

“What'd you say, Mykes?” Pete asks, catching her eye in the rear-view mirror.

 

“Nothing,” she says, narrowing her eyes at H.G., who gives her the best _who, me?_ look she's seen since Pete's little sister's rabbit chewed up the spine of a book Myka had loaned him. Myka struggles to smother her laughter, wondering absently if the alcohol H.G. has drunk is affecting her as well. “You're not sneaky,” she informs.

 

H.G. pouts, and it's the most ridiculously dramatic thing Myka's seen in her life. She can't stop the giggles this time, and H.G. joins in, nudging Myka's shoulder playfully.

 

She becomes aware of Pete calling her name.

 

“What?” Myka asks, tearing her eyes away from H.G.'s amused smirk. She rolls her eyes at the way Pete dramatically clutches his heart, bemoaning the lack of support his best friend shows him, not listening to anything he says.

 

“You'd make a terrible boyfriend,” Pete sniffs.

 

“I would _not!”_ she exclaims, affronted at the very idea. Everyone chuckles and Myka half-jokingly sulks back into her seat, refusing to look up when Pete begs her forgiveness with promises of ice cream. “I don't eat sugar.”

 

“But I thought you enjoyed those Twizzlers things,” H.G. interjects and Myka's neck almost snaps with how quickly she lifts her head.

 

“How do you know that?”

 

H.G. shrugs, eyes glinting in the light from a passing Super 8 Motel. “I have my ways.”

 

Jess, Pete and Giorgio aren't paying attention to them anymore and that's the only reason Myka allows H.G. to scoot so close to her.

 

“I see you sneak them in class, some days.” H.G. reveals as she tucks a curl behind Myka's ear. “I do wish you'd tell me when you haven't had the time for breakfast.”

 

Myka's pretty sure H.G. says something after that too, but she can barely even hear the roar of the engine over the blood rushing to her head; H.G.'s melodious voice has no chance of making it into her ears. Her fingers hit a tangle in Myka's hair and she feels the prickly heat of an especially strong blush burn her cheeks. God, and she'd only brushed a half hour ago.

 

H.G.'s hair looks like it would be silky smooth, like satin or the glossy pages of _Manhattan Medical_. Myka really wants to run her fingers through it to check this hypothesis.

 

“I stop by a bakery every morning,” H.G.'s voice filters back in. “It'd be no trouble to pick up something for you as well.” Her fingers still comb through Myka's hair, scratching with dull nails when she reaches the back of Myka's neck.

 

“Oh, no – I. I couldn't ask you to do that.” Myka sighs, eyes falling shut as she leans into H.G.'s touch. “Don't worry so much.”

 

“Don't worry about the kind soul who helped me do my Calculus homework in time to get the extra credit I so desperately needed?”

 

You're way too hard on yourself, Myka thinks. “You had other things to worry about,” is what she says, opening her eyes in time to see H.G.'s crinkle at the corners. “Of course I helped.”

 

H.G. hums, cupping the back of Myka's neck for a split second before she pulls her hand away completely. Myka swallows nervously and they sit in silence, apart from the quiet giggling coming from the front seat. She leans back against her seat, adjusting her seat belt for lack of anything else to do.

 

There's a tunnel up ahead, and Myka squints in preparation. Pete whoops when they enter the dimly-lit passage, as he always does. It's a game, with him. Sometimes ( _not_ when he's driving, Myka will punch him if he tries) he holds his breath until they emerge onto the other side.

 

“Myka.” The whisper is soft at her ear and when she turns, it is to find Helena looking back at her, heart-poundingly close.

 

“Yeah?” she asks, and something makes her clutch the edges of her seat for support. H.G. looks different than she did a second ago, focused but nervous, which makes about as much sense as Pete and his fondness for banana mayonnaise sandwiches.

 

“I just wanted to say,” H.G.'s fingers are cool on her chin. “that I hope you'll permit me this transgression.”

 

But Myka doesn't get the chance to ask anything like _what transgression_ because the next thing she knows, those cool fingers turn Myka ever so slightly to the right and these warm lips press against Myka's own, soft and cautious.

 

And Myka doesn't know if she should close her eyes and tilt her head like they do in the movies or shove her away and yell, like they also do in the movies. She doesn't know what to do with her hands, or with the rest of her body, which is seemingly frozen anyway.

 

What she does know is that H.G. is pulling away, that they aren't halfway through this tunnel, and H.G. smells really good and no one can see them anyway, so what's the harm, right?

 

H.G. makes a little sound when Myka pulls her close and it vibrates against Myka's lips like wonder and surprise and other confusing feelings. Her hand on the back of H.G.'s head becomes a little less tentative, a little more possessive. Myka has just enough thinking capacity left to fumble with her seat belt before H.G. surges into her, pushing her back and climbing almost on top of her, and Myka decides she quite enjoys the feeling of being pressed into the seat like this. The wool of H.G.'s jacket is rough under Myka's restless hands and H.G. squirms closer, pressing herself against Myka as much as she can without actually being in her lap, and her fingers catch in Myka's hair again but this time the tugging feels good – really, really good – and H.G. swallows Myka's quiet moan, smirking into her mouth.

 

Suddenly H.G. pulls away and Myka is left groping thin air and squinting in the relative brightness of the highway. The car slows to a stop, and she's vaguely aware that Pete says something.

 

“Are we here, then?” H.G. asks, and Myka blushes bright red at how breathy her voice sounds – she caused that. She made that happen. And then Myka can only stare blindly at the floor as she processes the influx of emotion that realization brings.

 

H.G. moves, her leg brushing against Myka's in a way that is probably totally accidental but Myka's breath hitches in her throat and H.G. _hears._ For a second the look in her eyes is hot and bright and it makes Myka think H.G. is about to launch across the car and kiss her again, in front of all these people.

 

(The thought exhilarates her and terrifies her in equal measure.)

 

“Coming?”

 

Jessica's voice breaks the spell and H.G. prolongs opening the door, letting her leg drag along Myka's for as long as she possibly can. Myka knows she's doing it on purpose but her body reacts anyway and she holds herself tense and still so that she doesn't do anything stupid. (Like lean over and hold H.G. in place so Myka can explore her mouth better, _much_ better.)

 

Myka squeezes her eyes gratefully as cold air gusts into the car. When she opens them again, both girls are outside: Jessica laughs at something Giorgio is shouting while H.G. looks straight at her. Then – slowly, deliberately – she unzips her coat. Myka stares, open-mouthed and surely looking like an idiot, as H.G. fans herself with an insouciant smirk, lips red and cheeks flushed – and _Myka_ did that. _Myka._

 

“Shut the door before you catch a cold or something,” Pete calls suddenly, and she jerks. “You're as red as a tomato back there!”

 


	2. this silken lair, this tender trap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This is happening.

The party is in full swing at the place Pete laughingly refers to as a townhouse. He and a couple of wrestling teammates rent it, and while Myka knows college students can't afford to be picky, her nose still wrinkles at the tacky decor and the vomit-coloured walls. At least there's a built-in bar, she thinks, downing her second Captain and Cola. (Probably the reason why the boys were so easily seduced into paying the astronomical rent.)

 

The bassline of a song Myka's never heard before throbs through the house and drills into her ears. Under normal circumstances, it would give her a headache, but tonight it – well, it still gives her a headache, but at least there isn't room for anything else.

 

Out of the corner of her eye, Myka sees Giorgio dancing with a blonde, and her mind flashes immediately to Jess. Myka wonders if that means H.G. is also nearby, and if she might be dancing like everyone else. The thought of H.G.'s lithe body undulating sensuously, pressed against – Myka clears her throat loudly, gulps down what is probably a dirty martini (and spares a moment to be grateful that Pete was kind enough to mix drinks, and intuitive enough to leave them within reach) because she _really_ needs it tonight.

 

“You havin' fun yet, Mykes?” Her personal bartender appears suddenly, grinning and yelling to be heard over the din of college students free of finals and ready for a good time.

 

“Loads,” she answers, swiping a hand over her mouth. The alcohol is almost decent, especially by college standards, and it is this party's only saving grace. She thinks her opinion shows on her face because her best friend heaves a sigh and plops down to next to her, scraping the bar stool closer. Myka manages a small smile and it doesn't fool Pete, not even a little bit.

 

“C'mon, you know why you're at my super awesome Finals-Are-Finally-Over blowout!” He stares expectantly.

 

“Because you hate me?” Myka grumbles, pushing her glass away. Her skin feels a bit too tight, her thoughts a bit too loose with all the alcohol swirling around. She should cut herself off and go home, ruminate a bit more on all her failures as a student, as a daughter. And stop for a burger or something, because Pete is looking more than a little blurry around the edges.

 

“Mykes!” What she can see of Pete looks affronted and Myka is immediately contrite.

 

“I know,” she sighs, elongating the word. “But Pete, I just really -” she pauses. He looks for all the world like a puppy begging to play, and Myka doesn't have it in her to tell him how much fun she isn't having.

 

“Look,” he says, leaning in so he doesn't have to yell over “Gangnam Style”. He claps his hands once. “Tonight's all about forgetting our finals, and your parents, and everything and just – just letting your hair down, right?”

 

“Right,” she says doubtfully.

 

“So get out there, Mykes!” He spreads his arms out, encompassing the entire room. “Do your thang. Work that body. Twerk like -”

 

“ _Pete_!” He erupts in laughter at her horrified expression, but at least he isn't talking anymore.

 

“I'm leaving, okay?” She pushes off the counter, slightly unsteady. “I'm gonna go dance. But!” She points a threatening finger, squinting to focus on his face. “If – if I don't have fun, I'm gonna go home! I'm gonna go!”

 

“Attagirl!” He snaps his fingers and cheers as she makes her way unsteadily to the living room, currently doubling as a dance floor.

 

Myka, even in her inebriated state, can list five places she'd rather be instead of here. She pauses at the boundary between the bar area and the crowd of swaying students and sloshing drinks, already regretting her decision. She turns on her heel, fully prepared to go back and inform Pete that she was leaving.

 

Her plan dissolves into fine dust the second she sees Helena G. Wells standing at the top of the staircase.

 

(They haven't spoken since the incident in the tunnel – and what is she supposed to think of _that_ , she still has no idea.)

 

No doubt the alcohol in her bloodstream is to blame for the way her heart leaps at the sight. Then her brain kicks in and Myka wonders what H.G. is doing here at all. Despite her easy inclusion into the more select cliques at their university, H.G. is not normally one for parties. And when H.G. does attend (so Pete tells her, parties are more his thing) she's in the thick of things, not all alone on top of the staircase. Then H.G. turns, pressing a cell phone to her ear, and she is either angry at or intimidated by whoever is on the other end of the line because Myka has never seen H.G. look anything less than completely self-assured (excepting, perhaps, the tunnel incident). She's surprised to feel something hot and protective well up inside her.

 

Before she can really think about it, Myka is halfway up the stairs. She shouldn't interrupt, she tells herself. H.G. is clearly busy. And while Myka would like an explanation for the kiss, she is also terrified of getting that explanation and the more she puts it off, the more chance denial will kick in and exterminate all the butterflies in her stomach. Yes, she should definitely leave. Now. Right now.

 

Except then H.G. shoves the phone into the pocket of her jeans – tight, and black and doing a great job of drawing attention to her legs – which doesn't help at all.

 

“Myka,” H.G. says. Her voice carries easily down the stairs and Myka freezes in place.

 

“Hi,” Myka gulps, lips twitching into a hesitant smile through the roiling in her stomach. H.G. inclines her head. Then she smiles gently – tiredly – at Myka and that protective feeling rises up again, hot and unfamiliar as she joins H.G. at the top of the staircase. It's almost eerily quiet up here, like it's just her and H.G. and the rest of the world is on mute. She likes this feeling. Myka takes a breath, realizes she doesn't know what to say, and settles for another smile.

 

“I'm in an odd mood tonight, darling,” H.G. sighs, dropping her head a little. Myka immediately starts forward, reaching for H.G..

 

“Do you -” Myka breaks off, cups a hand over her mouth and races for the bathroom.

 

“My poor dear,” H.G. croons, half laughing as she walks in. Myka watches through slitted eyes as H.G. flips the light switch and pushes aside a discarded towel with the toe of her boot. Myka curls up as best she can on the edge of the bathtub, giving up on dignity. (She's not going to puke, but her stomach is twisting and turning threateningly and she feels like she'll break apart if she moves too fast.) H.G. reaches for her, carefully tugs her upright. “What have they done to you?”

 

Myka opens her mouth with the intention to protest being rearranged like a doll, and H.G. slips into the space between her legs like they've done this a thousand times before. It surprises the nausea away until Myka leans back too quickly – then it returns with vengeance and sets her head spinning.

 

“But why was alcohol invented?” Myka moans, shutting her eyes tight. H.G. makes a sympathetic noise, encouraging Myka's head against her stomach. H.G. smells fruity and nice and it soothes Myka's nausea enough that Myka gives in. H.G.'s stomach is warm and firm beneath her temple, and moves steadily with every breath. Myka closes her eyes and H.G. wraps her arms loosely around her neck. To keep her close, maybe. Then she's hit with a different kind of nausea, a dizzying, terrifying, _thrilling_ kind of nausea and she really doesn't know what to do with any of this.

 

“To give courage, perhaps,” Helena says, running her fingers through Myka's curls. Myka starts, blushing as H.G. involuntarily pulls at her hair. She had forgotten she had even spoken. “The courage to make a speech, to start a new project. Perhaps,” she pauses here, and in the quiet Myka hears H.G.'s heart beating rhythmically under her ear. “Perhaps the courage to kiss someone they've had their eye on since the day they first met.”

 

Myka jerks back to find H.G. looking at her, eyes bright and serious and her jaw drops of its own accord. “ _Me?_ ”

 

“You,” Helena agrees, and maybe it's the alcohol making her vision go wonky, but it looks for a minute like Helena blushes.

 

Well. That is – Well. Myka's brain whizzes through several responses but none seem fitting for the vastness of this moment and all its implications so her mouth works uselessly while H.G. seems content to play with Myka's curls.

 

“Okay,” Myka says vaguely, attempting to stand. Eventually, with a little help from H.G., Myka is upright and mostly steady. H.G. smiles up at her, arms resting loosely at Myka's hips, offering support should she fall. “Hi there.”

 

“Hello,” H.G. replies, eyes crinkling alluringly at the edges.

 

“Hi,” she repeats, biting her lip. H.G. likes her. _Like_ likes her. Her! And suddenly it's impossible to keep the grin off her face. God, she's so pretty.

 

“Why, thank you,” H.G. smiles back, tilting her head.

 

Had she – did she say that out loud? Myka blushes and looks down, only to realize she's not looking down at the floor as much as she's looking down at H.G.'s...shirt.

 

“You're welcome!” she squeaks, stumbling backwards.

 

“Oh, darling – careful! You'll fall.” H.G. reaches to steady her immediately and Myka does her best not to squirm in place as H.G. pulls her forward.

 

“Sorry,” Myka mumbles, blinking. At her hips, H.G.'s hands burn through the thin material of her shirt and combined with the fruity perfume she can still smell...“Um, hey – can I?”

 

It's Myka's turn to cut H.G. off before any words can be spoken and there's a split second hesitation before H.G.'s lips part beneath hers with a sigh.

 

Yes, she thinks. This is right. This is what she has been missing – H.G., pressed warmly against her, body yielding and lips eager. She cups Myka's face, and Myka barely feels the thumb brushing along her cheekbone because H.G.'s mouth is hot and wet and so very welcoming. Myka could lose herself in here forever and –

 

And she is drunk. She is drunk and she knows this isn't good because she wants to be able to appreciate this, she wants –

 

Myka pulls away when the clamour in her head gets too much to handle and she and H.G. stare at each other, breathing heavy, still close enough to rest their foreheads together. H.G. sighs then, laughs a little.

 

“Let's...let's get you home,” she mumbles, breath hot against Myka's face.

 

“No.” Myka almost whines, crumpling H.G.'s shirttails with her grip.

 

“Yes!” she counters, laughing shakily. “Or else we'll be here all night.”

 

Myka lowers her head to look directly at H.G., the alcohol burning away her inhibitions. “I wanna stay all night with you,” she whispers earnestly, sliding her hands along H.G.'s back. The cotton of the shirt is almost rough beneath her palms and she does it again, slowly tracing the curve of H.G.'s spine.

 

H.G. leans her head on Myka's shoulder and for a moment Myka thinks she's got her, then she exhales loudly and steps back. “You,” she points at Myka. “Are quite intoxicated and I won't take any more advantage of that than I already have.”

 

Probably smart. And if she weren't _quite intoxicated,_ Myka would probably agree. But there can't be anything wrong with just holding her, right? Now she knows what H.G. feels like, she really doesn't want to do without it.

 

“I will call your friend Mister Lattimer and he shall escort you back home,” H.G. says and Myka nods, wondering if H.G. would ever give her a piggyback ride. It would be the perfect way to have her arms around H.G. and – no. No, she'd much rather give _H.G._ a piggyback ride. Or a piggyfront ride. She turns an appraising eye on H.G., noticing only vaguely that she's speaking into a cell phone.

 

Myka could totally do it, insists the alcohol fizzing in her blood. Fencing has made her pretty strong – if she does say so herself – and H.G. is very slight. But before she can open her mouth to discuss her new brainwave, she hears Pete call her name, voice booming up the stairs.

 

H.G. presses a quick kiss to her cheek and slips out of the bathroom just before Pete bounds in, all concern and drunken cheer.

 

*

 

“Oh, dear.”

 

Myka groans. Her eyes may never open fully again, she can't remember if she did the homework for this class, and her entire body aches. (She must have been a serial killer in a past life. There is no other explanation for this beast of a hangover.)

 

“It appears you're in greater need of this than I realized.”

 

She looks up to see H.G., smiling and fresh-faced, the exact opposite of how Myka feels.

 

“Ow,” she says.

 

“Did you mean 'hello', Myka?” Her name sounds so good coming from Helena's mouth, all teasing and lilting tones, and it drags a reluctant smile out of Myka. H.G. raises an eyebrow at her attempt and presents her with a puff pastry that looks as though it's about to crumble right there in H.G.'s hands.

 

Myka's mouth waters as H.G. explains.“It's strawberry. I've been made aware your Twizzlers are of the same flavour.” And there's something about seeing H.G. grin so hopefully that evaporates the protest right off her tongue. Her stomach, ignored this morning for the sake of not puking in class, rumbles loudly. H.G. notices, lips quirking upward in that way that sends Myka's senses reeling.

 

“Thank you,” she manages. She takes it gently from H.G., biting her lip at the tingle that sparks through her body at the brush of their fingers. Myka bites in and the pastry is strawberry-flavoured heaven in a flaky crust. She just barely stops her eyes from rolling back in her head.

 

H.G. laughs at Myka's rapturous expression, leaning casually against the desk. “I also have this.” Myka looks up, cheeks bulging with the pastry, to see H.G. set a cup of coffee at the corner of the desk, shaking her head fondly. “A vile-smelling beverage I carried all the way here, a good _ten_ minutes before class starts, in the hopes of currying your favour.”

 

She is going to marry this woman. “You're the best person on the planet. A – a goddess.” She dives for the coffee, promptly burns her tongue, and can't bring herself to care. “This is the best thing ever. _Ever._ ”

 

“High praise.” H.G.'s eyebrows lift in amusement and Myka's too focused on her food to feel embarrassed. H.G. reaches to touch her shoulder, quick and featherlight. Myka looks up and abruptly stops breathing because she knows this look, this is the look that lead to the kiss in the tunnel then again in the bathroom. “And would you deem these efforts enough to earn me the pleasure of your company for an evening?”

 

H.G.'s smile is teasing but her whisper was soft and serious. Myka hastily swallows the rest of her pastry. “Enough for an entire day, if you want,” she says softly, feeling her heart constrict nervously in her chest. She clutches her cup of coffee like a lifeline, grateful for the burning heat.

 

Myka didn't know it was possible for H.G.'s smile to become more radiant, but she finds herself only too happy to be proven wrong.


	3. you're so close to heaven

“But you were so excited about your mysterious date with your mysterious suitor!”

 

Claudia's head tilts to the side, her confusion coming across perfectly clear despite the shoddy graphics on Myka's laptop. It's Saturday afternoon, time for their weekly Skype tutoring session, and while normally Pete would be here too, making inappropriate jokes, asking Claudia if any kids at her school need to be beat up, (and generally being completely unhelpful), today he needs to scream abuse at his wrestling team to make sure they perform well next weekend.

 

(Joshua had mentioned to Myka with an offhanded smirk that Sundays are usually reserved as the Official Donovan Sibling Skype Chat Day, in class one day, but it felt like he was saying _I'm glad she's making new friends._ (It had come as a surprise to everyone that Claudia's physics-adoring older brother had enrolled in Myka's Comparative Literature class, arguably the most difficult of all the English courses, but Claudia delights in having her family close together when they're not with her.))

 

So today it's just Myka, Claudia, and Claudia's incessant questions. And the Calculus homework too, of course, but Claudia's all too willing to put that on the back burner.

 

Behind Claudia, something _sizzles_ and at Myka's pointedly raised eyebrow, the high school sophomore looks over her shoulder, a disinterested check to make sure nothing is actually on fire. At the edge of the view afforded by the webcam, Myka spies a haphazard pile of components on a table, maybe for some sort of machine Claudia wants to make. Myka doesn't know, and is seriously debating the merits of asking. A genius Claudia Donovan might be, but definitely of the mad variety.

 

She and H.G. would get along well, Myka muses. Both of them are destined to be great engineers. And take out the power lines of big cities in the process.

 

“Mykes!”

 

Myka snaps back to attention. “Yeah?” Claudia's question comes back to her. “Yeah, sure I was excited, but a thing came up.”

 

In this case, the _thing_ is that H.G. was given a major project in her Electrical and Computer Engineering class at the last minute – a major project due two days after it was assigned.

 

That's college for you, Myka thinks with a sigh. And, as disappointed as Myka is about having to delay their date – a _date_ with Helena Wells, that is never going to get old – knowing H.G. thinks Myka was important enough to deserve a half hour apology,in person _,_ with _flowers,_ and the most hangdog look she's ever seen...well it had been (and still was) difficult to get too upset.

 

“A thing came up?” Claudia repeats. She twists the green streak in her hair around her finger, arching disbelieving eyebrows at Myka.

 

“Yup,” Myka says. “There's this professor Brown here and he is _notorious_ for giving these huge assignments that are due, like, the day after.”

 

“That sucks, dude,” Claudia says on an exhale, and Myka bites back a smile. She forgets sometimes, how young Claudia is.

 

“It's not so bad,” Myka replies absently. It had lead to another kiss, after all.

 

Giddiness bubbles up at the memory and she has to bite down hard on her bottom lip to suppress the giggles that want to escape. She can almost smell the oranges and faintest hint of vanilla she's coming to associate with H.G., can almost feel the softness of her warm cheek against Myka's lips. Her breath had hitched, then she'd expelled it in a rush against Myka's neck and there it had fluttered, caught in Myka's curls. Then she had said her name; two times, the first _Myka_ whispered and surprised, and the second steadier, but no less gentle.

 

(Myka had wanted to stay there forever, with the bouquet of flowers squished between their bodies, outside the deserted Law Building with snow crunching softly beneath their boots and vivid sunset painting the sky above their heads.)

 

“Listen, Myka, about the tutoring thing. I know we do it like every week but -” Myka's phone chimes and Claudia cuts herself off.

 

“Uh, hang on, Claud,” Myka says, rummaging frantically through her backpack. “I think that's Deb.” Deborah is Myka's roommate, Pete's future girlfriend (his claim, not hers) and also the proud owner of a new Shih Tzu, which she is _not_ bringing into their apartment, Myka doesn't care how cute it is. “We need to go over some stuff,” Like how unwilling Myka is to potty train an ankle-biting, shoe-chewing puppy. “I'll call you right back, okay? Bye!”

 

Her hand closes triumphantly around the phone and she lifts it to her ear and closes the Skype window simultaneously.

 

“Hey, Deb,” she greets, quickly scanning through her home folder, looking for a Powerpoint labelled _Why Dogs Don't Belong in an Already Cramped Apartment, A Cliffnotes Version by Myka O. Bering_. (Informative and deadly serious, the way to go.) “You here so soon?”

 

“Not Deb, I'm afraid.” An accented voice returns easily, and Myka's flailing limbs just manage to keep her from falling right off her chair. “I am, in fact, here, though to the best of my knowledge you weren't expecting me.”

 

“Expecting – you, no!” Myka sputters, and on the other end H.G. laughs softly.

 

“Won't you open the door for me, Myka?”

 

Myka tries not to choke on her own spit; the sheer _suggestiveness_ of H.G.'s voice does absolutely ridiculous things to her insides. In a flurry of motion, she skids across the room in her socks and pulls open the door without banging it into the adjacent wall like she usually does. (A good thing too; if she makes a hole there, she'll have to tell her landlord about it, and Mr. Kosan has a way of quiet fury that rivals Mrs. Frederic, which really says something.)

 

“You're here!”

 

“I just said that, darling.” H.G. grins, untangling a red wool scarf from her jacket's collar. Inanely, Myka studies the way the black sets off the scarf's vibrant colour, because focusing on the fact that H.G. is _here,_ in front of her, is making Myka's heart pound alarmingly quickly.

 

“But you have a project,” Myka manages, and it comes out more of a question than a statement. She grips the doorknob tighter as H.G. smiles and all of a sudden the apartment is too hot.

 

“Yes,” H.G. nods, and Myka's stomach tighten out of nerves. “But it's no longer a concern.”

 

Myka laughs, knowing it comes out more of a nervous titter, she is such a _girl_ around H.G., and it's so embarrassing. “Did you make your engineering professor an offer he couldn't refuse?”

 

“Something like that,” H.G. says, and the way the sentence rises upward at the end tells Myka she has no idea what Myka just referenced, but the confusion just adds to her charm. And suddenly Myka has a vision of the two of them curling up together on her couch with the lights off, a bowl of popcorn in Myka's lap, and the bluish glow of a television reflected in Helena's eyes but not Myka's, not Myka's because Myka would be looking at Helena, the marvel of Myka's whole life so far and probably for as long she lives.

 

“Anyway,” she continues, biting her lip in a way that makes Myka's breathing go unsteady. “I know we said we'd reschedule to next Friday, but,” She gestures to herself, then Myka. “I'm here, and you're here, so I thought...?” H.G. fiddles with her hands like Myka makes her as nervous as she makes Myka.

 

“Well, I – I don't know -”

 

“Of course, I understand,” H.G. says, and steps backwards immediately. “It's a lovely Saturday afternoon, you must already have plans.”

 

“No, I – H.G.!” She looks back up at that, a tentative smile on her face. “I – you, just stay. You just stay right here and I'll be,” Myka makes a vague hand gesture indicating herself and the apartment behind her. “Here. Dressing. With clothes.” She closes the door and opens it a second later. “And I have to make a call, so -” She manages a quick glance at H.G. before she shuts the door in H.G.'s face ( _again_ , dear God) and tries to muffle her groan of sheer embarrassment. Couldn't get worse, at least, she consoles herself.

 

She gropes for her cell and dials, only be greeted with, “I can't believe you still actually call people on your phone.”

 

“Yeah, Claud, I'm so old.” Reentering her bedroom, she catches her reflection in the full length mirror leaning next to her desk and stares in horror at the stained sweatpants and tank top she's wearing. That couldn't have been the way she had answered the door. Not to H.G., of all people!

 

“Listen, Claudia,” she says, trying to focus on her closet instead of her embarrassment. “I know I said I'd tutor you today, but something really important came up, so -” Her eye is caught by a purple dress, a skimpy, skintight thing...which isn't hers, it's Deborah's, and they're not exactly the same size. She makes a mental note to put it back in Deb's closet.

 

Myka needs a dress, and heels and eyeliner and possibly some lip gloss and – and a new set of _genes_ , but H.G. is here, waiting right outside her apartment _._ Maybe I should let her into the living room, Myka thinks. Then she blushes at the thought of being naked in the same apartment as Helena Wells and strikes the thought from her mind.

 

There's a knock and H.G.'s voice filters in, amusement clear though muffled by the door. “Just put on something casual, darling.”

 

Put on something casual, Myka thinks incredulously, staring helplessly at the innards of her closet. What on Earth does that even mean?

 

“Well, I mean, it's a shame, but you gotta do what you gotta do so-” Claudia's voice filters in, but Myka's attention is torn, she's juggling two things at once, and one is just slightly more stressful than the other.

 

“Uh huh,” Myka mumbles, pressing a Colorado Avalanche sweatshirt to her front, scrutinizing her reflection. No, she decides, throwing the sweatshirt back onto the bed. There's dressing casual and there's dressing _date-_ casual; cold winters or no.

 

“Next week, Claudia,” Myka promises and she hangs up after a surprisingly cheerful _Sure, it's cool, I had a thing anyway_. The girl seems almost relieved, but Myka doesn't have time to question it right now, she has an H.G. waiting out in the hallway for her.

 

 

*

 

“Where are we going?” Myka calls. Snow crunches noisily under her boots as she lengthens her stride to keep up with H.G..

 

H.G. turns to grin at her, sharp and bright in their grey surroundings. “You'll just have to wait and see, I'm afraid.”

 

“I'm no good with surprises,” Myka huffs. “Hey, slow down!” She catches the edge of H.G.'s sleeve and tugs, surprised at how easily H.G. – _Helena_ , she should probably start calling her Helena – comes back to her.

 

H.G. steps in closer than Myka intended, close enough for the fog of their breath to mingle, all twinkling eyes and mischievous mouth. “Myka Bering,” she begins, her voice low and playful. “Are you suggesting you cannot keep up?”

 

Myka feels her jaw drop because that doesn't sound like a challenge to her speed-walking abilities, it sounds like a challenge to _other_ abilities and she sputters indignantly while Helena grins and brushes Myka's hand with her own. Dark eyes bore into hers and Myka's mouth snaps shut as H.G. laces their fingers together.

 

“We're almost there,” H.G. says, throwing a grin over her shoulder and Myka lets herself be pulled along, caught up in the enthusiasm thrumming through Helena's body. “Right around the bend,” H.G. says, and Myka quickens her pace until she's at H.G.'s side.

 

They've only been walking for fifteen minutes, but Myka is certain she's never seen this part of campus before. It seems fully removed from the usual din of college life, the yelling and the laughing and the footballs flying through the air. Myka listens to rhythm of their steps break the silence as she looks around, unabashedly curious. White-tipped evergreens grow on either side of them, spindly and tall and they stand out in sharp relief against the dull grey of the sky.

 

They round the bend H.G. mentioned and Myka gasps, squeezing her H.G.'s hand tighter. She feels rather than hears Helena's answering chuckle.

 

“A greenhouse,” Myka breathes, eyes wide. She has to tip her head all the way up to see the top of the building, and then she's almost blinded by the pale sun reflected off the roof. Thick green stems with large leaves block her view of the clear glass interior; and she suspects they're tomato plants once she sees hints of red between the leaves.

 

“So,” H.G. says, dragging Myka's attention back. “In keeping with our tradition of having private moments in a place anyone can walk into, such as a party -”

 

“Or a tunnel, in a car with our friends a foot away,” Myka interjects, trying and failing to hide a grin.

 

H.G. nods her agreement, impatiently brushing back the hair that falls to frame her face. “I present to you the greenhouse that the student body forgot,” she smiles at Myka's amused snort, looking hopefully at Myka. _Please like it_ , she seems to be saying, and suddenly it's hard for Myka to catch her breath.

 

“It's perfect,” Myka says through a dry mouth, unable to take her eyes off Helena. To Myka's surprise, H.G. flushes under her gaze, and the way she runs her hand through her hair is nothing less than shy. Myka feels her heart rate spike and she hides her smile by walking behind H.G. as they enter the greenhouse.

 

They're accosted by a wave of heat as soon as the doors open, but it's pleasant after the chill outdoors. It looks even better on the inside, and the first thing Myka notices is that it's not organized like a typical greenhouse. The floor isn't a floor at all, it's _soil_ and there are only a few flowerpots in sight. Plants of all kinds surround them, growing right off the ground in uneven rows.

 

“Well, then.” H.G. clears her throat, pulling off her jacket, and Myka follows suit, caught now not by the wonders of the unusual greenhouse, but the faint pink glow on Helena's cheeks. “The plan is to have a sort of picnic here, there's an absolutely lovely clearing type thing just up ahead,” she points away from the tomato plants. “And I stowed a basket here earlier this morning, so we'll have some food to share, a few drinks.” She gallantly takes Myka's jacket with a small bow and offers her arm.“Shall we, milady?”

 

Myka bites her lip, but a giant smile grows anyway. “Are you sweeping me off my feet?” she asks the green shoots poking out of the ground.

 

“Yes,” Helena says, nudging her shoulder and grinning widely when Myka meets her eyes. “As best as one can with such meagre offerings, anyway.”

 

“Oh, I dunno,” Myka says, ducking her head. She kicks at a clump of loose soil, feeling the heat of H.G.'s shoulder brushing hers periodically. She's still trying to wrap her around being here, with _Helena_ who seems to be truly enjoying Myka's company, joking and exchanging quick touches that just might mean she _likes_ her. “It's – you're kind of amazing.”

 

Helena is silent for a while and Myka's eyes are trained fully on the ground now, studying the snow already melting on her boots. She feels hot, and it's not just being inside the greenhouse.

 

“You are -” H.G. breaks off, before leaning up to press a kiss to her cheek and Myka flushes, though technically they've done this before. “You are absolutely the most darling person I've ever encountered.”

 

“I try,” Myka quips and shivers as H.G. breathes a laugh against her skin.

 

“Let me just get that basket, and we'll be off.” Helena's nose brushes against Myka's cheek for the barest of seconds, and Myka swallows to regain moisture in her mouth.

 

The imprint of the kiss burns cold against her cheek and Myka wonders briefly if Helena felt like this yesterday. She snaps out of her daze when H.G. lifts one of the few potted plants – a bonsai tree – to reveal a small compartment. She stretches and sees a wicker basket inside, which H.G. takes out and puts in its place their folded coats.

 

With a smile, Helena motions for Myka to follow. Her free hand swings along her side and Myka watches its progress carefully. Theoretically, she could just reach out and take it, twine their fingers together like H.G. did just minutes ago outside. And it would be better because she would feel the warmth of Helena's hand, not the cold leather of Helena's glove. All she needs to do is speed up a little bit, just enough to walk next to her, then reach to take Helena's hand in her own. That's it. That's all.

 

Myka stares intently at H.G.'s arm, and doesn't speed up.

 

“Et voila!” Helena declares.

 

Myka starts and sucks in a breath, only to expel it in shock. When Helena described the place as lovely, she meant it. But it's not so much a clearing as a fairly large patch of grass, surrounded by a young sapling and the vivid yellow of dandelions, matching Myka's shirt, sprinkled here and there. It's absolutely wonderful, but -

 

“You double-checked this isn't toxic or something, right?” It would be just like her university to experiment with the world's first lethal patch of grass.

 

“In fact, I _quadruple-_ checked,” H.G. says teasingly, and Myka watches her boots as she steps onto the grass, watches as the leather crosses from dirt to lush green.

 

“No, you didn't,” Myka mumbles, still scrutinizing the grass. It looks normal enough; long, dark green blades. She bends down and it feels normal enough, too; smooth and soft.

 

“I didn't?” H.G.'s eyes are teasing and bright as she pulls out a blanket from the basket. “How clever of you to realize, Miss Bering!” She smiles widely and instead of irritation, Myka feels only a pleased sort of tingling go through her body, setting every neuron alight.

 

She moves to help H.G. take out everything else in the basket, only to get swatted away. “Sit,” she is told sternly and Myka obediently plops down on the blanket H.G. spread out. Red and white checkered, just like in the movies.

 

H.G. removes a few fruits from the basket and spreads them out on a ceramic plate. Myka snags an apple, smiling cheekily at Helena. H.G. only laughs and Myka watches her take out more plates and eating utensils. Or, more accurately, she watches the waterfall of sleek dark hair spilling over Helena's shoulder as she bends over the basket. She watches the length and grace of the fingers that brush it back to reveal a pulse point flickering in a smooth sea of alabaster skin. She catalogues the sweet curve of Helena's neck, dipping down into the sharp juts of her collarbone and then goes further down, tracing grey shadows in the tantalizing cleft of the blouse Helena fills so well.

 

“Myka.” Helena's voice is hoarse and she looks up to find hot eyes trained on her.

 

“Yeah,” she manages, swallowing.

 

“I -” But H.G. doesn't seem to know how to finish the sentence and Myka sets the apple down slowly.

 

“Hey,” she says, standing on shaky legs. She's surprised by how low her voice has gotten. It's not entirely unattractive, she thinks, and H.G. appears to share the opinion. Dark eyes watch Myka steadily as she comes closer, moving slowly like she's in a dream from which she never wants to wake.

 

“I feel like I should kiss you now,” Myka whispers, inches away.

 

“Do you?” H.G. breathes. Her eyes flick to Myka's mouth and it gives her this burst of confident energy swirling excitedly in her stomach.

 

“Well,” Myka drawls, all of sudden suppressing a smirk. “I vaguely recall someone saying something about resisting the urge since the day we first met, so...”

 

Helena laughs brightly, ducking her head. “I'm glad you remember that,” she confesses to the ground. “It's not that I thought you were so inebriated, regardless I worried -”

 

“You shouldn't,” Myka interrupts gently. “I thought I asked you not to worry so much.”

 

“One can hardly blame me for forgetting,” H.G. rejoins, almost pouting. “Everyone else I've ever met tells me I don't worry _enough,_ about consequences especially. Or something in that vein.” She waves her hand like she can't be bothered to remember all that people say of her. And they do talk about her a lot, Myka knows.

 

“I think,” Myka pauses, because she doesn't _want_ to think right now, she just – she wants to enjoy the heat of the greenhouse and she wants to enjoy the heat of Helena's eyes on her.

 

“You think?” H.G. prompts, when the silence goes on for too long.

 

Myka grins shyly, and H.G. leans up just enough for their lips to hover, millimetres apart.

 

And it is just like being back in that car, racing blindly along a dark tunnel, heart pounding and hands clutching anywhere they can reach. Except this time, this time, Myka doesn't have to fumble under a jacket to feel the heat of Helena's body, all that warmth is gloriously accessible, pressed up against her front, all the curves and planes Myka has missed and has never truly got to know. Myka feels H.G. shift again as she strains upward to reach her mouth and tilts her chin down just a little and gasps when Helena surges into her. Myka keeps her close with a hand tangled firmly in her hair and the other wrinkling the back of her shirt. She takes a tiny step forward and they're closer than they've ever been, and just when it can't possibly get better, Helena starts playing with the back of Myka's neck, running her nails down the sensitive skin there, just brushing the skin underneath the shirt with the tips of cool fingers, all the while curling her tongue playfully around Myka's. Myka gasps again and H.G. pulls away, watching Myka carefully. She thinks H.G. is worried they're moving too fast, but Myka doesn't think so at all, and pulls Helena close to prove it.

 

“Mm,” H.G. says, resting her forehead against Myka's. “You taste of apples.”

 

That surprises a laugh out of Myka, and her arms tighten around H.G.'s waist. “What'd you expect?” she mumbles, kissing Helena's forehead just because she _can,_ now. “English roses?”

 

“You're a rose,” H.G. says, and Myka catches a flash of her grin out of the corner of her eye.

 

“ _You_ are a sap,” Myka declares. “And possibly drunk.”

 

“On you,” H.G. counters, grinning as she draws away.

 

It's ridiculous. It's absurdly cheesy. The knowledge doesn't lessen her blush, and Myka wrinkles her nose under Helena's teasing stare.

 

“Charming.” Cool fingers trace the lines of Myka's mouth, smile turning soft and gentle.

 

“What is?” she whispers, sighing as her fingers travel back to her neck. H.G.'s other hand rests on the small of her back, sketching small designs.

 

“You,” comes the soft reply and they're kissing again, slow and exploratory still.

 

They both jerk apart when something buzzes obnoxiously. Myka grimaces, fishing her phone out of her pocket. (The one time she takes it with her instead of leaving it in her backpack, honestly.)

 

“Pete,” she explains, looking up from the caller ID apologetically. Helena just smiles and takes Myka's hand in between her own, drawing dizzying patterns on Myka's palm, emblazoning her hand with invisible lines of ownership.

 

“Big flood! Artie's office!” Pete yells, effectively breaking the moment. In the background she hears their Claudia's panicked yelling, screaming something that sounds a lot like _Artie!_ “Need you here, stat!”

 

He hangs up, leaving Myka staring at the phone in confusion. Artie Nielson is Myka's boss at the library where she and Pete work, and just how is it possible for a _library_ to get flooded? Myka frowns, biting her lip nervously.

 

“I – I have to go,” she says, spinning on her heel, looking frantically around for the exit. A warm hand wraps around her wrist and Myka turns, a dozen worries on the tip of her tongue, to find H.G. looking calmly at her and easily soothing Myka's hyperactive imagination.

 

“It's all right,” H.G. murmurs, and Myka manages a tense little smile. “I'll walk you out.”

 

“It's...all right?” Myka repeats, pulling up short.

 

“Well, of course,” Helena whispers, pulling Myka's arms around her once again. “I've had you all to myself for a glorious afternoon, _and_ ,” she continues, laughing quietly when Myka nudges her nose with her own, “I shall see you again tomorrow morning.” She pauses again, eyes soft. She reaches up, and Myka leans into the finger that traces down her face, the touch more gentle than she'd ever imagined. “Myka, you understand, don't you? I am loath to be parted from you, but sometimes I think I ought to be, for the sake of my sanity.” She laughs again, shifts just slightly closer. “You cause the utter loss of my self-control, and I have no idea how, and I can't even bring myself to care as much as I should.”

 

Myka feels Helena's words flow over her entire body, leaving her feeling loose and tingly and it's not unlike being drunk, but instead of bitter beer, it's the sweet wine of Helena's words and the smooth cadence of her voice.

 

“Have I said too much?” Helena questions gently, twining a strand of Myka's hair around her finger and tugging, the look in her eyes part serious, part playful.

 

“No,” Myka says, breathing out a laugh. She stares at the top of Helena's head and wonders at the way her heart rate spikes. “I could listen to you forever,” she adds. (It's only fair, after all. Helena has allowed Myka to walk a little past the barrier meant to keep out the rest of the world and Myka should – Myka _wants_ to respond in kind.)

 

“I'll see you soon, then” Helena murmurs and sends Myka off with a kiss and a promise.

 

*

 

Myka floats into Comparative Lit. the next day, barely feeling the weight of the notebooks and the binders in her backpack, the thousand-page textbook in one hand, or the coffee cup in the other. She scans the room for H.G., a habit she delights in, a habit that had formed easily. Her eyes skip over the various students in her class; some bunched together in a loose circle, their attention focused on their phones, while others read or listen to music as their professor fumbles with stacks of paper up in front. But H.G. isn't perched upon Myka's desk, swinging her legs, waiting patiently, and Myka's smile starts to slip.

 

Briefly, she debates whether it'd be worth fishing her phone out from wherever it is in her backpack and text Helena. H.G. rarely misses a class – could she be sick? Myka chews her bottom lip worriedly as she sets her books down. She's flooded by that hot protective feeling again, and tries to remember if she knows a place that sells chicken soup, or some sort of take-out broth. That's what you give a sick person, isn't it? Maybe she should figure out if there's a florist nearby too, flowers always make people feel better.

 

Can she do that? Can she give Helena flowers? Are they there yet?

 

Well, Helena had given her flowers, not too long ago. Daisies _(innocence, loyal love, purity)_. The flowersflourish in the prettiest vase Myka owns, right on her desk where she can see them, combating the greyness of winter with their vivid yellow.) So it follows that Myka can do the same.

 

Myka sinks into her seat, satisfied with her logic. But she should still text Helena, and with that thought in mind she bends over her backpack, rummaging for cellphone.

 

Helena's laughter rings out suddenly, and Myka's head snaps up – right into her desk. “Ow!” she moans aloud, clutching her head and purposely not looking at the dried up chewing gum that is surely sticking to the underside of the ancient wooden desk. “H.G.!” she cries, her voice coming out more of a squeak and she winces before scanning the room once again for Helena.

 

Helena stands in the doorway, herself looking around for the one who called her name – right next to this absolutely gorgeous senior, a tall blond with broad shoulders and a crooked smile, who Claudia would definitely drool over and who Myka might as well, if he weren't nudging H.G. so familiarly, offering a smirk and a comment that sends Helena's laugh pealing out again.

 

“Well, you're not sick,” Myka mumbles, hating the jealousy that throbs hot under her skin. She looks at him again, trying to place him without making it obvious that she's staring. He seems familiar, she's sure she's seen him around campus. Well, at least he isn't an old man disguising himself and hanging around universities to lure unsuspecting young women into his lair, Myka thinks, giving her head a final pat.

 

Then Helena sees her, and while a part of Myka still rankles at the sight of H.G. so cozy with someone who is decidedly _not_ Myka, another thrills to see her again, as if they didn't just spend yesterday afternoon together, as if she and H.G. hadn't then exchanged texts late into the night. It's this part that has her straightening and smoothing out her shirt self-consciously.

 

“Darling!” Helena's eyes light up and Myka smiles despite herself as Helena approaches steadily. Helena reaches out and Myka sighs as warm fingers brush her check.

 

“Hi,” she replies.

 

“I have something for you,” H.G. digs around in her shoulder bag and Myka pulls out a chair. Helena sits gratefully, taking out wrap and offering it to Myka with a smile.

 

She takes it with a murmured _thanks_ and bites in. “So,” she mumbles through her mouthful, trying desperately to not seem interested, “Who was that?”

 

“Who was – oh, Steve? That's Steve Jinks.” Helena twists in her chair, searching the room for him. “On the hockey team. Plays defence, I believe. Now where did he – ah.” Helena points, and Myka turns to look. Steve stands near the front of the class, joking with someone – a boy, with dark hair that reminds Myka of Claudia's older brother. She says as much and Helena smiles vaguely. “I think Steve's sort of zen would be a good counter to Claudia's exuberance, actually. Don't you?”

 

“ _Steve_ ,” Myka mutters, then hopes Helena didn't hear because she knows she's being silly. Of course H.G. refers to other people by their first names. Doesn't mean anything, jealous idiot, she tells herself impatiently. She offers Helena a bite of her wrap, smiling shyly as Helena squeezes her knee under the desk.

 

“Mhm,” Helena goes to brush away crumbs from her mouth and Myka stops herself from finishing the task for her. “Speaking of, your Miss Donovan is very clever indeed. Professor Brown even seemed impressed by what she made out of my project. I think I ought -”

 

“Wait, what?” The quiet happiness suffusing Myka in warmth evaporates. “You got _Claudia_ to do your project for you? The entire thing? Is -” she chokes off, staring.

 

H.G. looks surprised.

 

“You can't – you couldn't have.” H.G. isn't that kind of person, Myka tells herself. She's sweet and nice and – and _not a cheater._

 

“I realize it may not have been ethically correct, exactly, but-”

 

“Ethically correct?” Myka hisses, eyes wide in shock. “No, it wasn't _ethically correct_.” H.G. leans back in surprise at the poison in Myka's voice and it only ratchets up the jumble of emotion another notch. “How could you do that?” Myka hears the shuffling of people turning to look at them in curiosity and grits her teeth.

 

“Myka, please, I -” H.G. looks bewildered, like she can't believe they went from sharing food and smiling like shy teenagers at the sight of each other to whatever this is _,_ with its anger and its hurt.

 

Myka can't believe it either. Her head reels and she fights to keep her breathing even. How – how is she even supposed to process this? She was given no indication that Helena would ever cheat on a project – all evidence pointed to her being fastidious about schoolwork, much like...much like Myka herself. All evidence pointed to her being charming and and – she feels betrayed. Myka feels betrayed. That's what this is, that's what this twisting, ugly feeling clogging up her veins means, that's why her hands won't stop shaking, that's why the wrap suddenly tastes like ash in her mouth. She reaches for her coffee cup, gulping down the hot liquid and she fights back the nausea rising up her throat and she fights back the tears threatening to fall.

 

“Myka,” H.G. tries again and Myka shoots her a look that silences her more effectively than the irritated student behind them.

 

And the rest of the class passes in horrible silence.


	4. that's when you burn

Myka sucks in a sharp, surprised breath as a wall of unforgiving cold air slams into her. She stands stock still outside the Law Building for a second, she lets the biting cold wind work its way into the crevices of her jacket, she lets students flow around her as they shiver and laugh and head for home as fast as they can. Another breath, and Myka hoists her bag higher on her shoulder and heads down the cement stairs, watching carefully for ice. Myka is good at being careful.

 

Much to her annoyance, her bag slips off the smooth leather of her jacket once again, and she grimly hoists it back up. It's heavy, filled to the brim with papers – homework, extra credit assignments, the inventory list for the new shipment of books her library is getting, more homework. Her workload just keeps increasing, and her clubs have never seemed so time-consuming. She's barely talked to Pete all week and she hasn't even seen –

 

She's been very busy. February is an exhausting month. And maybe some of that is her fault too, maybe she didn't need to sign up for seven hour shifts at the library every weekend, maybe she didn't need to take on more responsibility in setting up her fencing tournament next month, and maybe she doesn't need to avoid H.G. as hard as she is because H.G. sure isn't making any effort to speak to Myka, going so far as to switch seats in class, to which Myka retaliates by not looking over at H.G, not even once. (Myka is good at avoiding, too.)

 

It's only because her gaze is fixed firmly upon the ground that Myka sees it, a bright spot of yellow plastic, stark against the thorny branches of a hedge. After a quick visual check for the nearest trash can, she stoops to pick it up by the tips of gloved fingers. It's some sort of candy wrapper, probably a Butterfinger. She doesn't look too closely – she's not particularly fond of sweets, nor of touching what was probably slobbered on by someone – but she drops it into the trash can anyway because it's the right thing to do. Myka is good at doing the right thing.

 

And the satisfaction that comes of doing the right thing is just barely there; Myka has to strain to feel some last broken vestige of it, a glimmer of what it used to be.

 

Her stomach hasn't stopped twisting itself into knots, and this queasy feeling has followed her all day. No, all week. She walks on, tasting metal under her tongue and Myka knows that's psychosomatic, but –

 

She walks on and tells herself the protestations of her sore shoulder and the rest of her body are nothing more than stress and abnormally cold temperatures.

 

“Mykes! My main squeeze!”

 

She takes another searing lungful of the frigid air and forces a smile on her face. She turns and it becomes a bit more genuine when she sees Pete further along the sidewalk, chugging a water bottle and waving enthusiastically.

 

“Hey,” she says when he gets close enough. “You're not allowed near containers of water anymore. Remember what happened to our poor library?”

 

“Ha, ha.” Pete rolls his eyes, though he caps the bottle quickly. “Wasn't even my fault. And it's not even like anything actually got destroyed! It's just a little...”

 

“Flooded?”

 

“ _Soggy_.” He glares. “And it's better now, so. Yeah.”

 

Myka quirks a sceptical eyebrow but lets the matter rest. Pete offers her a half-smile, and they walk in silence for a bit before Myka remembers. She rolls her shoulders to force away some of the tension and says, “So how was your date with Alice last night?”

 

“Eh.” Pete shoots her a wry grin. “She was a couple sandwiches short of a picnic, if you catch my drift.” Myka smiles unthinkingly, remembering the sandwiches Helena had made for her – she'd put _arugula_ in them, of all things. It hadn't tasted bad at all, Myka has to admit, maybe she can con H.G. into making more –

 

No. She can't, and thinking that way is foolish. Myka is not a fool.

 

“Made me watch this stupid rom-com,” he continues, and Myka hums to show she's listening. “About this guy who, like, didn't go watch the baseball game – and this was the World Series, okay, we're talkin' _major_ league – and he went to his girl's high school reunion instead but that somehow meant he loved her more than his baseball and so that was a big deal and then there was a whole kissing in the rain situation.” He takes a breath. “It was bad, Mykes. So bad.”

 

“That's romantic,” she says absently. They're only a few minutes away from the library they work at and Myka, for one, is looking forward to getting inside and being able to feel the tip of her nose again.

 

“ _Not_ watching the underdogs score a home run in the big leagues is romantic?” Pete asks, lining up his water bottle and executing a beautiful three-point shot into a nearby recycling bin. Myka ignores his victory dance with the ease of long practice.

 

“Choosing your girlfriend over your favourite sport,” she tells him, swatting at his arm. For all his love of movies, Pete is terrible at explaining the plot; to this day she's surprised she can understand him. “Isn't that how you're supposed to gauge how much someone means to you?”

 

“By missing out on a World Series?” Pete wrinkles his nose and Myka hits him again.

 

“No! By seeing if you would put them over things like watching a sports game or-”

 

“Big leagues, Mykes! Front row tickets!”

 

“ _Or_ ,” she continues as though he hadn't interrupted. “Playing Mass Effect or Call of Duty or whatever -”

 

“Hey, Mass Effect is the actual best.” He points a warning finger at her and she gives him a blank stare in return.

 

“Pete.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Putting your girlfriend above sports.” They jog the final steps to the library, and Myka feels herself relax as she enters the building. It's old and dull and grey, but warm, and there are books everywhere and it reminds her of the bookstore she grew up in – it's home, or the closest she gets.

 

Myka busies herself with stripping off her coat as Pete continues, “I don't know if I'd ever put my girlfriend over sports.” A thoughtful pause. “School, maybe.”

 

Myka smiles tightly and quickens her pace, almost bumping into Claudia as she comes out of the back office.

 

“Guys! Guys!” Pete gives an exaggerated wince at the sheer volume coming out of the little body.

 

“Inside voice,” he complains.

 

Claudia ignores him. “The computer lab's done!” she cries, almost bouncing in place. Pete abandons all pretensions of adulthood and yells excitedly.

 

“You are children,” she tells them.

 

" _You_ are no fun," Pete retorts and Myka knows it's just Pete being Pete but after H.G., after an entire week spent reevaluating her choices, the remark stings. It must show on her face because Claudia shifts awkwardly and Pete's mouth opens and closes silently.

 

"Shut up, Pete," Myka mumbles, and it's at best a halfhearted attempt at lightening the mood. She scoffs and rolls her eyes, trying to communicate without words that she knows she's being overly sensitive.

 

The cart full of new books should be somewhere in the back room, Myka knows, and they need to get the books sorted and shelved before they head to Pete's wrestling match tonight. Speaking of: "Pete," she says, gesturing. After a confused second, Pete remembers, and slips on his _Ask Me Anything – I Work Here!_ lanyard, identical to the ones already around Claudia and Myka's necks. "You can check out the lab later, we have these new arrivals to deal with, remember?"

 

Artie has left them with very serious instructions, and Myka intends to follow through on them, even if the man himself is busy fixing up the last of the water damage in his personal office. Myka looks up from the book cart, only to receive two identically pleading stares.

 

“Lab first?” Claudia begs. “Pretty please? With fairy gold dust on top?”

 

“Fairy gold dust!” Pete echoes, pouting childishly and Myka's groan is more for show than anything else. He still looks concerned, and it's more for that than anything else that she agrees.

 

Claudia springs towards the newly renovated computer lab, but Pete lingers, scratching his head.

 

“Hey, look I know we haven't really talked all week -”

 

“Pete, relax.”

 

He sighs, and Myka echoes him. She forgets how serious Pete can be sometimes. “I – you're still coming to my wrestling match, right?”

 

It's not what he wanted to say, Myka can tell. “As if I could forget. You only remind every hour.” Pete laughs unabashedly and pulls Myka into a brief hug. “Smell ya later!” he calls over his shoulder and Myka shakes her head fondly.

 

She turns to the loaded book cart and smiles a little – she doesn't really mind inventory.

 

*

 

She has never hated inventory more in her entire life.

 

Myka pushes the cart down the R-S aisle with more force than strictly necessary, and tries not to scowl. There's a frail-looking old lady carrying a floral print book bag already overflowing with Nora Roberts' books and Myka has no desire to scare her off. (The woman's name is either Hazel or Rosa, and she's a regular, drops by every Saturday. As far as Myka knows, Hazel or Rosa never goes anywhere but this section.

 

It's a shame, Myka thinks, that Hazel or Rose has never explored the library's prized wall of mint-condition, first edition novels. It's fine to like what you like, of course, but shouldn't an attempt at broadening horizons be made?)

 

But Hazel or Rosa is just about done browsing for the day, and Myka is left alone with her thoughts and the monotony of shelving. Then faint sounds of laughter drift over to Myka and her hands tighten around a book because the sound is light and airy and so much like Helena's she could just –

 

But she doesn't, and she places _Empire of Man_ onto its shelf with more care than the task warrants.

 

She forgot how easy it is to lose yourself in your thoughts during inventory, and now she's paying for the oversight. The Dewey Decimal System only demands so much focus, and so Myka tries hard to clear her mind but it keeps going back to that English class, and –

 

And it scares her – it _terrifies_ her because now she thinks if Myka was given a chance to do it over again, she doesn't know if she would have severed ties with Helena. Because this separation makes her feel like she can't breathe right, like there's something big missing somewhere important. It seems as though her heart has forgotten how to beat quickly, she's been so apathetic all week, no wonder Pete was worried. Her entire body is lacking in vitality when Helena isn't around and Myka feels powerless to return herself to her usual state. Forget how Helena's misconduct made her feel, now it's as though her entire body is betraying her. No one bothered to tell her the absence of another could affect her so profoundly. A memo would have been nice, Myka thinks sardonically, shelving another book.

 

“Hello.”

 

Myka nearly leaps straight into the air. She whirls around, hand pressed over her heart, but the shock passes soon and her heart resumes its slow march. “Who – do I know you?” she asks of the girl who so easily snuck up behind her.

 

The girl tilts her head to the side, dislodging an absolute waterfall of tight curls. It must take her hours to wrestle them into control, to buy the appropriate creams and gels.

 

Myka sympathizes.

 

“I'm Leena,” the girl says. “I think we have a mutual friend.” She smiles warmly, immediately putting Myka at ease. Leena has a kind face, sun-kissed and open, with all the quiet confidence of someone years older. She holds out her hand and Myka shakes it automatically.

 

“Actually,” Leena begins, levelling her with a piercing stare. “Can you wait here a second?”

 

She spins away without waiting for a response and Myka is left staring at the empty air between the shelves. She leans against the cart, bemused and almost falls off when Leena walks back into view, with none other than H.G. in tow.

 

She stammers uselessly for a minute and then, blessedly, Leena butts in, looking strangely determined.

 

“Well?” She asks pointedly. Myka starts, but it appears she was talking to H.G., who scowls and glares at the ground.

 

“Well,” H.G. echoes and Myka swallows, hard. It's first time in more than a week that she's heard this voice, and her heart pounds like she's just run a marathon. Leena nudges H.G. – discreetly, it's true, but Myka has given herself permission to look now, and she soaks in every millimetre of H.G. – and H.G. glares at the ground. “What are you doing here?”

 

Irritation flares – where does she get off sounding so sullen? Myka is not the one who cheated on a major project, nor the one who then dropped it into conversation like it was no big deal, and so her words are terse when she replies, “I work here.”

 

H.G. inclines her head, wetting her lips. Myka follows the pink of her tongue for a brief second before she tears her eyes away. “Oh. How nice. Well. I have work to do.” She looks at Myka, almost daring her to comment and Myka almost does, almost asks if Leena is doing a project for her or if she called Claudia up again, but she bites her tongue. “Shall we then, Leena,” H.G. says, and it doesn't sound like a question.

 

There's no reply, and they both look around, only to find themselves alone between the shelves. Helena pivots back to face Myka, looking as though she wants to blame her for Leena's disappearance.

 

“Well,” H.G. says instead, and gives Myka a sharp nod in what may be a goodbye. She turns to go, back straight and head high – completely untouchable. She is regal, even from behind and Myka breathes in and Myka follows her.

 

She doesn't want to. Not really. There's nothing about cheating or other shortcuts that Myka finds excusable but she doesn't want to go around feeling sick to her stomach for the rest of her life either and there's still a part of her that can't come to terms with the fact that the best thing that's ever happened to her fizzled out with a whimper and not a bang. The books she's read made her expect more, made her expect adventures and laughter and love that would rewrite history.

 

She expected more, but she'll take closure.

 

Helena is seated at one of the tables when Myka emerges from the aisle, typing furiously on her laptop. A part of Myka wonders if she's faking it to look busy, another part is too scared to go and check. That part wins out and Myka lingers near the shelf, close enough to be heard but far enough away that she can't see the screen. Papers litter the table and the turquoise backpack draped across a chair tells Myka that Leena had chosen to leave, give them some privacy. The thought gives her courage and she prepares herself to have a serious adult conversation about respecting the rules and why Myka can't be with someone who disregards such things.

 

“Remember orientation?” is what comes out instead.

 

“It's where I first met Claudia, actually,” Helena snaps, fingers never pausing in their race across the keyboard.

 

Myka swallows. Helena seems determined to make this difficult and Myka would cut to the chase and break it off fully but then she Myka remembers how hard it is to not have Helena around. “It's also where we met,” she says softly. Helena stops typing for a second, just for a second, but Myka seizes it for the chance Helena might never verbally grant her.

 

“You were – you'd just gotten here from London three days ago. And I'd been here for about the same time, but I was from Colorado so I was, y'know, used to America.” Myka forges ahead, even though Helena doesn't acknowledge her, even though she herself doesn't know where these words are coming from, but she can't stem the flow. “I don't know if I've ever told you this, but Pete and I were supposed to explore the orientation fair together, check out all the clubs and teams and stuff after we got settled into our dorms. But I finished unpacking way earlier than Pete and I thought, why not be impulsive, wander around by myself?

 

“So, y'know. I did. And I ended up in front of the sci-fi club's booth. The guys behind it were giving a really good pitch, cracking _Star Wars_ jokes like you would not believe, laughing, making the three people – and this is including me – who were listening, laugh a lot too. But then they started messing up their puns and stuttering and blushing and they kept looking at this one spot. So I get curious and I turn and look, and there's – there's you.”

 

“I didn't think they were doing a very good job,” Helena says. Her voice is quiet and she looks vaguely surprised, like she didn't mean to speak out loud. Myka tries to hide the grin on her face, afraid it might scare H.G. into silence once again.

 

“That's the first thing you said to me.”

 

“Then you told me it was because I was making them nervous,” Helena says softly, and Myka ducks her head in embarrassment. “And you blushed such a pretty pink and I thought – well.” Helena trails off and Myka swallows, trying to gather up her courage.

 

“I -” She has to pause, to remind herself to be brave. “You know, I could barely look at you. You were carrying _All the Pretty Horses_ and I love that book – oh, my God, and your voice was the sexiest thing I'd ever heard and – and you were so _pretty -_ ”

 

Helena laughs and Myka's cheeks flame instantly. She shifts her weight uncomfortably and gauges how quickly she can duck into the bathroom and hide for the rest of her life. God, what possessed her to _say_ all that?

 

“Myka,” Helena says and Myka squirms as Helena finally turns to look at her, finally says her name after a week's remission. But she takes a breath, and continues on a different train of thought. “And then little Claudia ran into us.”

 

“Literally.” Myka mumbles it under her breath, hoping for a laugh, a smile, anything to take away from the awkwardness she feels. She takes a peek and sees Helena roll her eyes, but the corners of her lips tug upwards. Close enough, Myka thinks.

 

She risks a longer look to find H.G.'s gaze just flicking away from her, and in that brief second she thinks she saw brown eyes regarding her with achingly familiar affection, but then it's gone and something in her chest constricts. Myka moves to cross the distance between them, almost before she realizes she's doing it, moves until she's close enough to run her fingers over the cheap maple veneer on the chairs.

 

“But then Pete somehow broke his wrist, all the way on the other side of campus, and I had to go and make sure he didn't somehow die his first day of university. And you snuck her outside before someone caught her sneaking in.”

 

“Of course. I didn't want her to get into trouble.”

 

Myka aims a tentative smile at H.G., but she's gone back to studying the screen. “Yeah. You and Claudia must've bonded over that a little.”

 

“We did. We talked,” H.G. replies, and Myka takes heart in the way her eyes flick up to meet Myka's once more. “I discovered she had quite the aptitude for engineering.”

 

Now or never, she tells herself. “You were wrong to have her do your homework,” she tells Helena softly, hoping it won't come to raised voices.

 

Helena exhales noisily. “I could have done the project in my _sleep_. Come to think of it, so could Claudia!”

 

“I – I know.” Myka soldiers on. “But -”

 

“But _nothing,_ Myka. I didn't want to make a mini model of an RBF, I wanted to spend the time with you!”

 

Myka blinks, hard and her vision clears. “You shouldn't have done it,” Myka repeats, voice small in the thundering silence after Helena's admission.

 

Helena stares at her incredulously then Myka watches all the fight drain from her body. “I know,” she replies softly. Myka's heart leaps before stilling in her chest, and she waits with baited breath for Helena to continue. “I know I shouldn't have."

 

Myka ignores how her hand trembles when she reaches for Helena. She swallows to regain moisture in her mouth. “I would have helped you, you know. Build an RBF, after you explained to me what that means.” Helena laughs weakly, and it hitches it her throat when Myka's fingers finally brush her shoulder. She covers her face with her hand, massaging her temples and Myka looks on helplessly. “Why did you do it?”

 

“The greenhouse was going to be filled with people all next week. Some sort of end-of-semester project,” Helena mumbles into her palm, eyes shut. “But I wanted you to see it empty and beautiful, I knew you'd love it.” Before Myka can even try to process _that_ , Helena speaks again. “I could have – I don't know, taken you for dinner instead and waited for it to return once more to its semi-abandoned state, and I chose not to. I will confess to Professor Brown tomorrow morning,” H.G. promises and Myka starts.

 

It shocks her to realize she doesn't want that because, “You – but you might get _expelled_ , this college isn't exactly known for leniency -”

 

“He'll go easier on me because I admitted to it,” Helena says reassuringly and Myka bites her lip because she can't lose H.G. so soon after she got her back. “Naturally, I am his favourite, which helps immensely, I should think.” She gets to her feet and Myka feels the tension she's been carrying in her ribcage dissolve because this Helena is a Helena she's familiar with, all arrogance and charm.

 

“Naturally,” she repeats, numbed by the realization that she's forgiven H.G. already.

 

Helena takes a deep breath. “Your determination to always do the right thing is one of the most remarkable traits you possess, Myka Bering.”

 

Tentatively, Myka tugs at H.G. sleeve, just to know if that's okay. Helena's gaze doesn't waver from her eyes, though a hand does come up to close over Myka's. _Thank you,_ she means to say. “I missed you,” comes out instead and Helena steps into her arms as though she'd never been away.

 

 

*

“We should get going.”

 

“Yes,” Helena agrees, trailing a hot mouth down Myka's neck. Myka shivers helplessly and Helena traps her tighter against the door. And it feels right to do this now, with the air cleared between them, with a little bit more understanding of each other.

 

“No, I'm serious, the wrestling thing starts – oh, wow – starts in maybe twenty minutes and it's – it's, um -” Myka breathes out carefully as Helena discovers the soft spot just below her ear.

 

“Darling, must we leave right away?” The question is less a sound and more a feeling, hot against her ear, and it slides straight down her spine and simmers and twists in her stomach in a way Myka's not very used to at all.

 

“Yes,” she manages, and Helena leans up to kiss her, hot and sweet and _possessive_. “No,” she breathes between them, and feels Helena smile as she walks Myka backwards.

 

Myka is almost shoved onto the bed sideways and she laughs breathlessly as she scrambles to resettle, head cushioned on the pillows. Helena smirks and clambers on top of her, straddling her hips with a practiced ease. The thought gives her pause and Myka reaches to push Helena's hair behind her ears.

 

“You've done this before, haven't you?”

 

Helena's eyes flutter under Myka's ministrations and she hums. “Yes,” she says, regarding Myka with lidded eyes.

 

“I haven't,” she says honestly. “I mean – _sex,_ yes, but not with –”

 

“A woman?” Helena suggests, mouth curving up playfully.

 

“A woman,” Myka agrees, looking away nervously.

 

“Well,” Helena traces a line down her throat, follows the collar of Myka's shirt. “It's a good thing I'm so much more experienced then, isn't it?”

 

Myka wants to laugh, but all that comes out is a sigh, and she tugs Helena close and tilts up her chin as Helena kisses her again, this time softer but with no less heat, slow and teasing.

 

A tongue darts out to lave at Helena's lower lip before Myka takes that lip in between hers and bites down, drawing a moan from Helena and heat blooms in her belly. They're fumbling now and speed is of the essence so when Helena whips off her shirt, Myka sits them up and follows suit. Helena keeps her hands lodged firmly in Myka's hair, but Myka is drunk on the silken heat emanating off Helena's bare back and her bra is just getting in the way.

 

Embarrassingly, she fumbles with the clasp – what the hell point is there to being a girl if she's reduced to fumbling with the clasp – but it comes away soon enough and Myka pulls back because she needs to see this, she has to see this.

 

Myka draws the straps down Helena's shoulders slowly, not because she wants to tease, like Helena's impatient sigh suggests, but because she's enamoured with the softness of Helena's skin, the way it gives underneath even the lightest touch. She means to ask where she should put the bra, but then she registers Helena naked from the waist up and loses her breath and her voice.

 

“Helena,” she whispers, but it wasn't a sentence was ever going to be completed and so she just watches, enchanted, as sweet pink flushes Helena's breasts, rising up her collarbone and her neck, coming to rest high on her cheeks.

 

“I thought you were so much more experienced at this than I am,” Myka teases in relief, knowing her voice is husky and dry.

 

“I am,” H.G. insists unsteadily, running a thumb over Myka's bare stomach and Myka sucks in a breath. “But Myka, the _way_ you look at me, I -”

 

She pauses and kisses Myka again, and Myka slides shaking hands up Helena's sides, and – and then the phone rings because it just _figures_.

 

Helena groans into her mouth and the vibrations make her forget that the phone rang, that the world exists because what could be more important than the twist of Helena's tongue in her mouth or the heat of her hands on her back?

 

Myka hisses, honest to God hisses, when the phone rings again and she lunges over the side table to reach it.

 

“What!” she snaps.

 

“Mykes?” Pete has to yell over the pandemonium in the background. “How come you're answering H.G.'s phone?”

 

*

 

The match hasn't started yet, but already laughter and good-natured jeers give the impression that unless you add to the noise yourself, you will be deafened.

 

The smell of popcorn and hot dogs fill the air and each steps she takes squeaks, the floor sticky with old alcohol. More than anything, it reminds Myka of a bar, albeit an exceptionally large one, with bleachers along the sides.

 

She loves it. Granted, she loves everything right now – earlier she hugged Claudia for a solid minute when they went to pick her up. (Myka reminds herself to have a chat with Claudia about agreeing to help H.G., but it can wait.)

 

“I'm concerned about the copious butter and salt intake taking place here,” H.G. says, looking around, and Myka chuckles.

 

“They'll burn it off with exam stress soon enough,” she murmurs affectionately, and turns to see Helena staring back at her. Suddenly she wants nothing more than to have Helena's fingers tight around hers but Claudia is _right there,_ and no one knows yet, not even Pete. (He seems to have bought the excruciatingly awkward explanation she'd made up for him, and Myka checks her pocket once again to make sure her phone isn't left on vibrate again. She has half a mind to check Helena's phone too, but restrains herself.)

 

“Hey!”

 

The girls turn simultaneously to see none other than Steve Jinks calling and waving to them. Helena waves back, grinning.

 

Steve catches up to them quickly and nods at them politely. “Hi there,” he says.

 

“Claudia darling, this is Steve Jinks,” Helena says. “Myka, I believe you've seen him before?”

 

There's something challenging about Helena's smirk and Myka tries not to scowl. “I have, yeah. Hi.” She holds out a hand for Steve and he takes it. He has a firm, trustworthy grasp and Myka tells herself to loosen up. “You're a friend of Helena's, right?”

 

Steve affirms this and shakes Claudia's hand in turn.

 

“Have you seen Joshua yet, Steve?” Helena queries, too nonchalant to be truly casual. Myka head snaps towards her and she studies Helena, trying to figure out what she's trying to pull.

 

“I have!” Steve laughs. “He's looking pretty cute today, actually.”

 

He? He's cute? _He_ is?

 

Myka barely hears Claudia's affronted response – “What do you mean _pretty_ cute! My brother's always cute! Wait, no!”– and the unmistakable burn of a blush make its way across Myka's cheeks and she tries not to groan aloud. She knows Helena is smirking beside her and she tries valiantly to pretend Helena doesn't know Myka was jealous of a man who would never be interested in Helena, simply by virtue of her gender.

 

I don't feel like an idiot at all, Myka thinks sarcastically. But at least Claudia and Steve seem to have hit it off. Helena leans into her side briefly and she turns to find warm brown eyes trained on her, simultaneously reproving and affectionate. She supposes she deserves it, and she smiles exasperatedly to show it. Helena nudges her shoulder, trying to hide a smile, and it may not be the handhold she wanted, but it warms Myka from the inside out.

 

*

 

It's a smashing victory for their team, and Myka's ears still ring with the disbelieving cheers of her peers as she and H.G. wait in line to buy drinks.

 

“You know, I thought you and Pete were together, when we first met.”

 

Myka starts and almost loses her place in line as she steps back to look at H.G. more fully. “You thought what? Why?”

 

“Well, you did fuss so over him at orientation,” H.G. says, smiling at the cashier as she points at their orders.

 

“He _broke_ his _wrist_!” Myka yelps, almost dropping the tray of soda she is handed. (Dr. Pepper for Helena, cream soda for Pete, Mountain Dew for Claudia, and tonic water for Myka, along with a reprimanding look at their sugar intake.)

 

H.G. shrugs in that way she has that can mean anything from agreement to condescension. “Yes, well,” is all she offers on the subject.

 

Myka is still trying to formulate a response to that when she almost walks into someone.

 

“Sorry!” she says automatically. “Are you okay?”

 

“Fine,” is the despondent response, and Myka takes a minute to be surprised that a single word can be slurred so effectively. She's run into a hulk of a college student, close-cut brown hair, broad shoulders, rippling pectorals, and he would be ferocious-looking if he weren't so clearly, miserably drunk. A member of the losing team, Myka notes, noticing the foreign blue and red jersey.

 

“Do you need some help?” Helena queries, smiling curiously.

 

He squints at her for a while before replying. “Hey,” he says slowly, pointing unsteadily at Helena. Helena doesn't look even vaguely perturbed, in fact she tilts her head and looks somewhat bored. The wrestler takes it as an invitation to continue. “How's your kid?”


	5. i tell you no lies (she'll blow your mind away)

“Um,” Myka begins.

 

“She's fine, thank you,” Helena says at the same time.

 

“Thas good,” the wrestler mumbles, stumbling off.

 

“Kid, huh?” Myka manages. She licks her lips and sneaks a look at Helena out of the corner of her eye. Helena doesn't reply. “Do – do you maybe want to...to explain that a little?” Myka's voice cracks and squeaks near the end of the sentence. Helena tilts her head back, eyes squeezed shut. and Helena's head lolls back, her eyes drifting shut.

 

“Let's talk somewhere quieter,” she says eventually. Blowing out a long breath, she starts off, weaving through the thinning crowd. She looks back as if checking that Myka is behind her, and the plaintive appeal on her face has Myka starting towards her before she even realizes. Helena smiles a little, a quick quirk of her lips, and turns, heading straight for a back door wedged between a rarely-used storage closet and a stack of floor mats. Myka follows in silence.

 

Once outside, the night air stings as it travels into her lungs, but Myka doesn't mind too much. The world is peaceful out here, serene. Easy to understand. A fine blanket of snow covers the garbage of the alley and lends an air of mystery to shadows, the whole scene coming across like something out of an era grimier and more macabre than this. Her eyes track the dark indentations of Helena's boots in fine white powder, until Helena comes to a stop against the far wall.

 

“Your kid,” Myka prompts when the silence stretches.

 

“My daughter,” Helena says. She leans against the brick wall. Her voice is quiet but filled with surprising warmth as she continues, “My Christina. I had her when I was eighteen, back home in London.” Myka tilts her head up to the clear night sky, wondering absently why HG still considers London to be her home, after nearly three years in the U.S.. It's an absurd thing to focus on, of course when Helena has a _daughter_ , and she blinks hard to get her thoughts back on track.

 

“You have a baby.” Myka licks dry lips. “You – have a kid. A little girl.”

 

“Yes,” Helena says, pushing her hair back with both hands.

 

“Named Christina,” Myka says, watching Helena repeat the motion.

 

“Yes,” Helena replies.

 

“Helena,” Myka says. “What – I...” the sentence trails off and Myka shakes her head, laughing though nothing's really funny.

 

“She was conceived right after my A-levels, in fact,” Helena says tentatively. “I was a bit of – an impetuous brat when I was younger,” Helena smiles a little, and it kind of sounds like someone remembering actions so long ago that past and present self seemed irreconcilable.But Myka isn't sure. Myka's having trouble reading her now, trying to superimpose Helena the mother on top of the Helena the charmer, Helena the admirable, Helena the rogue. Helena the one she thought she knew.

 

“You have a baby,” Myka repeats. “How – how old is she?”

 

“Three in March.”

 

“Right,” Myka says. She does some quick calculations, and figures out that Helena would have been just turning eighteen when she had her. “Okay,” Myka exhales, shoving her hands deep in her pockets. She is painfully, acutely aware that she should say something, _anything,_ more than the monosyllabic phrases she's managing, but this new revelation, it's – well, it's –

 

It's a lot. It's a lot to deal with. And she would wonder at the calm with which she's receiving this information, but Myka is smart and she remembers Helena's weight in her lap, all soft skin and hot eyes. Some subconscious part of her mind, cleverly tucked away, has been piecing clues together, Myka realizes, and the thin spidery lines visible on Helena's stomach were part of a larger puzzle. She's really not sure how to feel about that, either.

 

“Do tell me if I should keep expla -”

 

“You kept this from me.” Myka watches Helena's hands disappear into her hair again.

 

“I didn't – it was too early to gauge how serious you and I were going to be. Or, indeed, if you were going to easily accept the existence of my daughter if we were to be in a committed relationship. And if those two conditions were satisfied, would Christina accept the existence of _you_?” Helena's shoulders rise and fall and Myka feels twinges of sympathy despite herself.

 

“I get that it must've been hard,” Myka says quietly, “But -”

 

Helena exhales. “Please don't be too upset,” she says, voice suddenly brisk despite the beseeching nature of the words. Myka looks up in surprise. Helena's chin is tilted upwards but her eyes are pools of warmth, and Myka feels a tug somewhere inside her at the complicated swirl of emotions churning in their midst – affection and agitation, defiance and desperation.

 

“I think I have a right to be,” Myka says, concentrating on the shape of the words so she doesn't shout.

 

“You do, and yet I still wish it weren't true.” Helena smiles, a tiny little thing that barely turns the corners of her mouth, and Myka sighs.

 

“I – H.G..., this is a _lot_ ,” Myka says, gesturing vaguely at the space between them. “To deal with.”

 

“I understand.” Helena stares past her, refusing to meet her eyes. Myka watches with exasperated fondness as Helena's shoulders stiffen and her spine straightens.

 

“That just means I need some time,” Myka says gently, feeling something warm and unstoppable swell in her chest as Helena's expression shifts from cool remove to wary hopefulness. “Not – I'm not breaking up with you or anything.”

 

“Not so soon again, surely.” Helena almost smiles and Myka grins back.

 

“We were never technically broken up,” Myka corrects. Helena raises an eyebrow but refrains from comment. Myka feels the corner of her lips curl up involuntarily and Helena returns the smile in full. “So." Myka nods, and doesn't know how to continue. “So.”

 

“See you tomorrow?”

 

“Tomorrow,” Myka echoes with a smile Helena returns in full.

 

*

 

Tomorrow actually turns into the day after, then the day after, then the day after that.

 

After almost a week of being unable of seeing each other for more than ten minutes due to all sorts of reasons (increased fencing practice in Myka's case, upcoming deadlines on articles for the school newspaper in Helena's, and of course more and more coursework for them both) Helena gives up and invites Myka to her house on Sunday.

 

That's how Myka finds herself on Juniper Drive, early in the afternoon, clutching at a slip of paper with an address scribbled onto it in Helena's sprawling hand, and staring up at the most gorgeous townhouses she's ever seen.

 

But they aren't really townhouses, they look more like some odd hybrid townhouse/real house mix, taller than they are wide, but with fairly spacious backyards. All the buildings are in muted shades of russet and mahogany, blending to create a beautiful tableau right out of a real estate magazine. A rich people real estate magazine, the kind only A-list celebrities buy because only they can afford to consider the properties on display.

 

Myka looks down at her scuffed boots, worn jeans, slightly wrinkled yellow t-shirt and the leather jacket Helena loves to steal given the least opportunity, and feels woefully inadequate. She really should have paid more attention when she was dressing this morning, but Deb's dog (and she was never forgiving Deb for taking advantage of her misery over Helena to bring a _puppy_ into their apartment) chewed up her nice pair of boots and – well. Christina is out with Helena's parents, she reminds herself, doing something or other, so it's just Helena. And Helena already likes her so there's no need to max out a credit card at Herve Leger.

 

Her phone buzzes and she pulls it out to read a text message from Helena, _You're certain you're ready to discuss this?_

 

It's the third in a series of texts she's gotten today, all from Helena, all along the same lines. _You didn't tell me you live in the East Egg_ , Myka texts back, though now that she thinks about it, Juniper Drive is smack dab in the middle of the rich neighbourhoods of Sioux Falls, an hour's drive from the university by car and two hours by public bus.

 

_Duly amused by the Gatsby reference, but I'm serious._

 

 _So am I,_ she types and glances once more at the slip of paper Helena gave her at the wrestling match last night, though she's long since memorized the address. 564 Juniper Drive. Somewhere on her left, if Google Maps hasn't lied to her again.

 

She finds it, despite a wrong turn onto Phoenix Court and a few minutes wandering hopelessly through perfectly silent streets with perfectly tended gardens with perfectly clean cars resting on perfectly grey cement driveways.

 

When 564 Juniper Drive comes into view, Myka finds herself scouring the house top to bottom, looking for anything that proves a child lives here too. Besides the homemade animal-themed wind chimes hanging on the porch, nothing really pops out. She picks out a doll clad in an equestrian outfit, tucked between the bars of the porch railing, but that's it. Maybe the discretion is out of respect for the sensitive dispositions the wealthy tend to cultivate, but Myka doubts it. Helena isn't one to willingly capitulate to others' expectations.

 

Myka looks around once more at the wealthy neighbourhood, wondering once again what the hell Helena's doing in such an obviously wealthy neighbourhood. Wouldn't gossip be worse in these areas? Her musings are cut short when the front door swings open to reveal a smiling Leena. It's shallow, but she's relieved to see Leena too is dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt.

 

“Hi,” she says, hands firmly shoved into her pockets.

 

“Hi!” Leena replies. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you,” she adds quietly, holding the door open for her to enter. “She's been insufferable, moping around the house like it's her job.”

 

And just like that, some of the more lingering tension evaporates and Myka laughs along with Leena. “She's inside?”

 

“Downstairs, tinkering on something. If I didn't know better, I would think she's nervous,” Leena says. Myka blushes (which is crazy, there's nothing to blush _about_ ) and Leena narrows her eyes. “I'll take you to her,” she finishes and Myka smiles, gulping in the sweet sandalwood smell of H.G.'s home.

 

She half expects her footfalls to echo off the walls when she trails Leena down the hall, the house is so _big._ The ceiling soars overhead, Myka has to tilt her head almost all the way back to catch sight of the roof. Every inch of this place speaks of wealth in understated but clear tones, from the short but burnished staircase to the polished wood floors and the expertly chosen, tastefully displayed decorations. Myka passes an ornate mirror in a gold frame resting on a small table in the middle of the hall, though closer inspection reveals it to be bolted to the wall so it doesn't fall off. Myka nods her approval. Pretty, but also safe for a wandering two year old.

 

And Christina – Christina is everywhere without actually being here. Her toys are bright and plastic, vivid against the muted off-whites, yellows, and faded purples of the rest of the house. She catches a glimpse of an upturned walker next to a pile of giant Lego blocks before Leena jerks Myka out of her musings.

 

“H.G.'s right down there,” Leena says softly. She gestures to a staircase leading into the basement (Myka wonders briefly why a townhouse has a basement at all, then shrugs and writes it off as _rich people_.) and turns away with a final smile. Myka waves and turns, only to find her progress blocked by a white baby gate. Experimentally, she pushes a promising lever on the side, and is wholly unsurprised when the gate doesn't budge. She scowls at the thing, then steps over it.

 

Cooler air and indistinct humming sounds mark her descent down the staircase. There's an open doorway once Myka reaches the bottom, and the humming gets noticeably louder. Myka crosses into the room and stops dead in her tracks.

 

Where typical basements would resemble a relaxation area with a TV, or a few posters, this room boasts walls lined with large diagrams – Myka spies blueprints, schematics, and more technical drawings than she can count. Instead of sofas, there are two large desks at the far end of the room, shoved together so that it becomes one long worktable, absolutely covered in bits and pieces of machinery. Wires tangle and twist down around the legs, connected to electrical sockets and wire extensions. As are more than a few pliers, littered on the tables, a plastic container filled with screwdrivers (Myka itches to organize them into appropriately labelled boxes) what is definitely a chainsaw (why, she's really not sure), two visible laptops and a PC (the source of the humming, probably), and Helena's cell phone, but no Helena.

 

“You're here.”

 

Myka yelps and jumps almost straight into the air. Found her, she thinks, hand pressed over her frantically pounding heart.

 

“Sorry,” Helena chuckles, slipping around Myka. “I was washing up.” Helena holds up damp – but clean – hands as proof.

 

“You could've killed me,” Myka complains to Helena's back. “I'm too young to die of cardiac arrest.”

 

“I can't believe I'm considered dramatic.” Helena rolls her eyes, somehow finding an unopened water bottle in the mess on one of the tables. “Would you like a seat?”

 

Myka looks in the direction Helena is nodding, to find two paisley armchairs wedged into the corner, steady and old-fashioned in a way that serves as a perfect counterpoint to the general chaos of the room.

 

There's a little fridge beside one of the armchairs and after perusing it for a minute, Helena finds what she is looking for. Myka accepts her bottle of tonic water with a surprised smile – she hadn't expected Helena to remember – and sits herself down. “You know,” she says, jumping right into it. “My impression of rich parents is more force their daughters into marrying rich men, and less buying them a house with the coolest basement ever.” She smiles, takes a breath. “Were they supportive of you? About Christina?”

 

It's the first of a mental list of questions she'd prepared last night.

 

“No,” Helena says with a tight smile. Myka freezes in the middle of opening the bottle and worries she's said the wrong thing. “My family is quite old fashioned. They already disapproved of the self-indulgent ways of my youth, and when I came home pregnant – well. I explained to them that the father was – he was a decent boy, but a boy. He wasn't fit to be a father, nor,” Helena catches Myka's eye. “Did I particularly want him to be in our lives.

 

“I kept her. Obviously. My parents couldn't abide it, but I was almost eighteen, and besides, Christina – Christina won them over the second she was born,” Helena says, and there's no mistaking the pride in her smile. The Wells charm at work, Myka thinks fondly. “I had already been planning on attending an American university, and after Christina was born, they were only too happy to put up the money.” Her fingers tighten on the door of the mini fridge before Helena shuts it with a decisive thud. “I was practically shoved out the door, and they bought me this house, and hired me a nanny while I was on the plane to South Dakota. It simply wouldn't do to have all their _contacts_ know of their scandalous daughter, you understand.” Helena rolls her eyes, and Myka worries at her bottom lip. She reaches for Helena but Helena straightens abruptly, shoulders tight. Myka recognizes the signs of someone defending themselves and retreats with as soothing a smile as she can manage.

 

Helena continues. “The nanny – you've met her, Leena, she's become a good friend – takes care of Christina while I'm at class. She does her coursework mostly through the internet, which is convenient for everyone,” Helena explains and Myka listens intently, soaking up every word. She hadn't expected Helena to be so forthcoming right away, but she certainly isn't going to complain. “Christina's gone. Half the year, she's gone with my parents in London. It's – it's better for both her and me, and I know that, because I need to do well in school in order to qualify for the jobs that would support us both right off.” Helena breathes out a laugh entirely devoid of humour, and Myka remembers the Calculus homework Helena had almost begged for her help in finishing when Myka was a sophomore. Myka had always known Helena knew how to do Calculus, but she realizes now it was probably because she and Leena had been stretched thin taking care of Christina at the same time.

 

“She's with me from December through to February, then from June to September,” Helena continues, shaking Myka back to the present. “Coincides perfectly with holidays and suchlike, you understand.” It also explains why she only attends parties for part of the year, Myka thinks. “And I go visit whenever I can during the year. I go visit my own child.” Myka watches in dismay as tears gather in Helena's lashes and Helena laughs shakily, taking a few more sips from her own water bottle.

 

“Well,” she says. “Already so in-depth and I've only just offered you a drink.”

 

“Helena,” Myka says softly. Helena's eyes dart from the ground to hers and to the ground again. Myka sits on the edge of her seat, leaning forward towards Helena, her own hands wrapped around the neck of her tonic water. Let me help, Myka thinks fiercely. I want to help, I want to give you anything you want. “Helena,” she says again, almost pleading.

 

“Yes?” Helena's voice is remarkably steady, despite the tears that begin to trickle down her cheeks and the ghostly white of her knuckles around the protesting plastic of the water bottle.

 

“I would fix it if I could,” she says, and feels the pounding of her heart reverberate throughout her body.

 

Helena's stance softens. “I know,” she says and it's sad in a way that tears at Myka's heart. She doesn't stop herself now, reaches for Helena. Helena takes her hand and brushes a kiss across the knuckles. She sits, finally, on the armchair across Myka, connected by their outstretched arms.

 

“So I must admit,” H.G. says at length, her emotions once again under perfect control. “I expected you to require quite a lot of time to come to accept the reality of this, and then to come to grips with it, if you did at all.”

 

“I -” Myka pauses. “I saw the stretch marks.”

 

“Oh. You never said anything.” Myka shrugs helplessly, because no, she didn't. “And I suppose there are also the constant rumours of my pregnancy and consequent seclusion swirling about.” She laughs a little. “Gossip is a bit behind the times.”

 

“Yeah,” Myka breathes. “Never really believed it, but I guess I should've.”

 

Helena runs a hand through her hair in a way Myka recognizes as apprehensive and she clutches tighter at Helena's hand.

 

“Myka,” Helena says. “I know that most twenty-two year olds are decidedly not looking for a relationship with someone who already has a baby. Generally that sort of thing is reserved for after marriage. Or graduation.” She aims a smile at Myka that is too shaky to be genuine.

 

“I'm twenty-one,” Myka says, because it's true, because the jumble of emotions she's trying to work through are still overwhelming her, and regrets it as soon as Helena winces.

 

“Right,” H.G. says. “Well.” Another pause. “I don't mean to be unable to stop talking of her just because the subject out in the open now, but Christina is due home from her excursion any minute now.

 

“Your parents? Here?” Myka says, trying for an even tone but she's pretty sure her alarm shows. She feels ridiculous immediately, of course, because why should meeting Helena's parents inspire more panic than possibly meeting her daughter?

 

“Oh, they'll leave as soon as they drop Christina off,” Helena says dismissively. “They never stay overnight, to tuck her in or anything.”

 

Myka wonders why, then her brain derails on _Helena_ tucking someone in. She'd probably read a story out loud first, pointing out pictures to an enraptured little girl, the spitting image of Helena. After that there would probably be a small discussion, too sleepy on the child's part to be a true argument, about whether she really does have to go to sleep _right now_ , and Myka is getting breathless just thinking about how soft and protective Helena would be over her child. She wonders if Helena would check the closet for monsters (Do two year olds believe in monsters in their closets? Myka has no idea.) before dropping a kiss on a sleeping child's forehead –

 

“It's a lot to take in, I know. I understand if you wouldn't want to-” For the first time since Myka met Helena, the senior seems to be at a complete loss.

 

Myka clears her throat to bring herself out of her daydream. “To?” she asks.

 

Helena's mouth opens and closes a few times. “Continue, I suppose,” and she laughs in a way that falls just short of lighthearted.

 

It takes Myka a minute to understand. “Continue wha – the relationship?” she asks. “Of course I want to continue! I mean, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't _sure_ sure last week, but I'm _sure_ sure now, and Helena, I – I want this, okay, I made a pros and cons list and everything!”

 

Helena's shoulders sag visibly and she huffs out a laugh. “You're so –” she breaks off, shaking her head. “Thank you.”.

 

Myka blinks. “What did I do?”

 

Helena smiles and the warmth in her eyes leads to Myka's breath stumbling in her throat. Helena lifts Myka's hand to her lips again and Myka blushes, feeling utterly ridiculous. “My parents will be here soon,” Helena murmurs over her knuckles, never breaking eye contact with Myka.

 

“Can I meet her?” Myka blurts, before she loses the nerve.

 

Helena looks from the gentleness of Myka's grip to the warmth in Myka's eyes, and croaks, “I'm not certain I understand.”

 

“Well,” Myka says, determinedly ignoring the nervous flutters in her belly. “She's important to you and I – I'm important to you, so logically the thing to do is meet her. If that's okay.”

 

Helena blinks slowly, the faintest suggestion of a smile about her lips. “I...would like nothing better.”

 

“Good,” Myka says, nodding decisively. “Good, then that's settled.”

 

*

 

“Christina, this is Myka.” Helena's voice is sweet and Myka wanders farther into the room, clutching tightly at the tray of food Leena had all but shoved into her hands while Helena gathered Christina from her parents. “Mummy's told you about her, hasn't she?”

 

Helena sits on the floor, next to a young girl who watches Myka's approach with curiosity. She's dressed in blue jeans, which look absurdly out of place on such a tiny body but Myka surprises herself by finding it adorable. There's what looks like a stitched panda on her shirt, but she can't really make it out because Christina clutches an intricately detailed wood train tight against her chest, right over the design. A few feet away, Myka spies mini railroad tracks. She wonders briefly if Helena made those, because she knows she saw matching schematics downstairs.

 

Years of babysitting, don't fail me now, Myka thinks resolutely. She smiles and crouches down in front of Christina. “Hi,” she says quietly.

 

Christina looks immediately to her mother, wide-eyed, and Helena offers a reassuring smile.

 

“Hi,” Christina replies softly, meeting Myka's gaze easily and Myka feels her smile become a bit more genuine at the familiar brown eyes that study her.

 

“Do you want a – ” Myka looks at the tray in her hands. “A -” she can't identify what's on the tray – Girl Scout cookies on steroids? – and hopes the child won't laugh at her. “Some? Do you want some?” She offers the tray too quickly, wincing as the large cookies slide partially off their plates.

 

Helena's hand comes up to steady the tray and Myka mumbles a thank you. Christina selects a cookie with utmost seriousness, perusing the choices carefully.

 

“Hey, guys!” Myka looks up, grateful for the interruption. Leena walks in, smiling brightly. “Enjoying your cookies, Christina?” Christina nods, crumbs sprinkled over her chin. Myka wonders where the cookie went until she realizes Christina fit the entire thing in her mouth. Helena rolls her eyes and reaches for a napkin but Myka is a little impressed. “H.G., can you come out here for a minute?” Leena says, easy smile shifting into something a little more forced.

 

H.G. pauses in the middle of wiping Christina's face. “Right now?”

 

“Yes, please,” Leena returns, voice strained.

 

Helena's gaze flicks from Myka to Christina and back again. She looks searchingly at Myka and Myka tries to say _it's okay, go find out what's wrong_ without actually saying it _._ Helena pauses for a second more then returns the smile, swiping the last of the crumbs off Christina's face. She disappears into the hallway after Leena, leaving Myka and the child sitting on the floor staring at each other.

 

Which is, surprisingly, even more awkward than it sounds. Myka shifts uncomfortably on the floor, smiling hesitantly at Christina.

 

“So, Christina,” Myka says. “That's a really nice train.”

 

Christina grins brightly and Myka feels her lips twitch up reflexively. “My train!”

 

“Definitely,” Myka agrees. “Did your mother make those train tracks over there?”

 

Christina twists to look where Myka's pointing, then turns back around to solemnly say, “Yes.”

 

“That's cool.” And that's the extent of my conversational skills, Myka thinks, wishing Helena hadn't left.

 

Fortunately, Christina has no such constraints. “Mummy says we're going to the park today,” she announces, and Myka is almost surprised to hear the faint British inflection in her voice.

 

Myka looks out the window. Yes, the weather has cleared up nicely, and the sun shines in brightly through the window. “It's a good day for it,” she agrees.

 

“Wanna do swing.” Christina pouts a little and Myka has a brief moment of panic. She really, really doesn't want to witness a temper tantrum. “Mummy pushes me.”

 

“Uh, that's nice of her,” Myka says, exhaling. No tantrums today, it seems.

 

“Would _you_ push me?” Christina brightens, looking inquisitively at Myka.

 

“Uh -” Myka says, because why is Christina imagining Myka pushing her on the swings when it's clearly Helena's job, unless – oh, Helena mentioned she'd told Christina about Myka, so does Christina already know Myka and Helena are dating? Does she know what that means?

 

Christina giggles, presumably at the widened state of Myka's eyes. It's fascinating, Myka thinks, how so young a child can carry off a look of such mischief. Definitely Helena's genes at work.

 

“Pretty,” Christina announces, pushing herself off the floor. Myka cocks her head, watching bemusedly as the child ambles towards her, still uncoordinated, and plops herself down in Myka's lap.

 

“Oh,” Myka says, surprised. Her hands come up to support Christina's back, trying to get used to the solid weight in her lap. She tries to stay still while Christina shifts, trying to find the best place, sometimes standing up on Myka's legs, little hands grabbing on to her shoulders for balance, sometimes stretching out with her legs dangling off Myka's knee, all in all sitting still for a grand total of five seconds. Myka's getting tired just looking at her. “Well, hi.”

 

Christina repeats, “Pretty!”

 

“What is?” Myka asks, struggling to follow Christina's train of thought. She's getting whiplash, going from speaking to a child who spoke near full sentences to one that just repeats a word. She yelps as Christina points, nearly jabbing her eye out, which only makes the child giggle delightedly, squirming in Myka's lap.

 

“Eyes!”

 

“Oh,” Myka says. Christina's nose wrinkles and it take Myka a second to realize the child is copying Myka's facial expression. She sticks her tongue out experimentally and laughs when Christina does the same. “Well, I like _your_ eyes better.” She dares a tap to Christina's nose and is gratified when Christina bursts into laughter.

 

“I think it's because she's never seen that shade of green,” Helena's voice is smooth and low, and Myka starts, twisting to look back.

 

Helena stands in the doorway, looking like she wants to smile but can't quite manage it. It's the same expression from that party, Myka realizes, straightening. Angry and intimidated, but Myka still doesn't know why. She opens her mouth to rectify this but Christina beats her to it.

 

“Mummy, she has good eyes,” Christina says, and Helena chuckles.

 

“I know, darling.” Helena's strange expression melts away in the face of her daughter's innocence and Myka's breath catches at the sheer joy in Helena's eyes. She feels monumentally stupid all of a sudden – how could she have missed this? How could she have spent so much time with Helena and not have known Helena wasn't complete? Because when Christina clambers out of Myka's lap, Helena laugh is brighter than Myka's ever heard it. When she runs to Helena in that special uncoordinated way of toddlers, her light-up sneakers flashing with every step, Helena crouches down, eyes bright and arms outstretched to catch her lively daughter. And when Christina trips, the terror in her eyes is fleeting but visceral.

 

Myka lunges, heart in her throat, but she's too late and Christina falls.

 

“Christina!” Helena cries at the same time as Myka, equally as panicked. Christina just laughs off the fall, and holds blessedly, patiently still as Myka gently picks her up and pulls her close, doing a thorough check for bumps and bruises. “Be _careful_ ,” Myka admonishes, trying to breathe normally again. She's never been more thankful for the physiology classes she's taken because they tell her Christina's perfectly fine.

 

“Okay,” Christina says, looking completely unrepentant and so completely like Helena that Myka sets her down on the floor with a laugh.

 

Helena manages a smile as well, though Myka can't imagine she's breathing any easier. Children fling their bodies about with such disregard for personal safety. Helena holds out her arms and Christina gladly consents to be picked up. “Shall we go get you dressed properly for a park outing?” Helena asks, and Christina cheers. “The park's not too far from here,” Helena says to Myka.

 

“Horseshoe Court, right next to Leena's house,” Christina chimes, and it sounds like something she's had to repeat often.

 

“Very good!” Helena says and Christina glows at the praise. “The park is a three minute walk, and it's about the only place she enjoys going in the winter – would you like to join us?”

 

“Is that how the wrestler knew about Christina?” Myka asks. “He saw her at the park?”

 

Helena smiles faintly. “One can only assume. It's entirely possible he was there while Christina and I were playing in the park, but I don't believe I've ever seen him before. Then again, I don't tend to look for people from school. In fact, I prefer to keep Christina far away from them as possible.”

 

“Some of them are kind of -” Myka breaks off, casting a guilty glance at Christina.

 

“Some of them,” Helena agrees. “You'll be all right while I go dress my slovenly daughter?” Helena aims a mock glare at her daughter.

 

Myka's eyebrows jump to her hairline when she realizes Christina has crumbs all over her shirt. (And it's a lot of crumbs. Could she have eaten another cookie while Myka wasn't looking?) “Slovenly, H.G.?” Myka cries, making a funny face for Christina. “Not slovenly! Anything but slovenly!”

 

"Not soven!" Christina echoes, and if it's possible for a two year old to grasp the concept of a smirk, Christina is doing it right now.

 

Helena tilts her head back and laughs, bright and loud. She turns to leave and Christina waves over her shoulder as they go upstairs. Myka waves back, and wonders when she'll get the grin on her face under control.

 

“I'll keep you company while they get ready,” Leena announces, breezing in. Myka turns her attention to her, feeling the smile slip off her face.

 

“Is everything okay?” Myka asks. She's determined to get to the bottom of this mystery once and for all – no more secrets.

 

“It's nothing,” Leena says, and Myka does not feel reassured. “Just – her parents want her and Christina to go on holiday back to Britain in March.”

 

“Oh,” Myka says. Which, okay. She knew that. It's common knowledge, actually. Deb has often mentioned how lucky H.G. is to take off for Europe every break, but now –

 

It's different now. They're _together_ now.

 

“Well,” she says, trying for cheerful. “Is that what you're so down about? Empty house for a week?”

 

Leena shakes her head slowly and Myka knows there's more. “Well, no. I have my own house, next to the park.” Myka opens her mouth to say she remembers, then realizes that means Helena is alone dealing with Christina for the majority of the time, and falls silent. “Uh, they're going for a week more than usually do. That's what I wanted to talk to H.G. about earlier, her parents came back really of ticked off, I could feel it a block away.” Leena shakes her head.

 

Myka bites her bottom lip. “Oh,” she says again. Two weeks isn't such a long time, is it? After all, Helena will be with Christina, and her family. It's a good thing, Myka thinks. It really is.

 

Myka hears Christina come downstairs before she sees her descend, all in a flurry. “Where's Miss Bunny?” Christina asks worriedly.

 

“Who now?” Myka asks, reaching to free Christina's shirt from her jeans.

 

“Her doll,” Leena explains quietly. Then, louder, “I don't know where she is, Christina. Did you check your room?”

 

“She did,” Helena says, jogging down the staircase, slightly out of breath from chasing a two year old around the house.

 

“Um, I don't know if it's Miss Bunny, but there's a doll ready to go horseback riding on the porch,” Myka offers. She's faced with three blank stares, then Christina's face splits into a grin and Helena catches her around the waist before she can run out into the cold.

 

“I'll get her,” Leena offers, slipping out the door.

 

“Miss Bunny, though?” Myka whispers. Helena offers a shrug and goes back to watching Christina tugging on her boots and it's in that moment Myka realizes: “You must miss her so much.”

 

“Sometimes even when she's here,” Helena admits, forcing a smile for Christina when looks up from getting on her first boot. “I can't stop thinking of when she'll have to go back.”

 

Myka squeezes Helena's hand briefly and does her best to put aside the thoughts swirling around in her mind. She doesn't want Helena to leave for England for spring break, she realizes with a guilty start. She wants Helena to say right here.

 

“Shall we?” Helena looks back over her shoulder. Christina hops off the bench to take Helena's hand firmly in hers.

 

“Wait,” Myka calls. “I forgot something.”

 

“Forgot what?” Helena asks, turning around, one hand already on the doorknob. She watches curiously as Myka walks towards her and is grinning when Myka reaches her and kisses her softly.

 

"Forgot to say hi." Myka whispers it against Helena's lips, watching in fascination as Helena's eyelids flutter. She presses a final kiss to Helena's cheek and straightens up, and she knows she's grinning like an idiot but she also knows that she doesn't care. There's a tug on her pant leg and Myka looks down to find Christina looking up at them, eyebrow raised skeptically.

 

"Ew," she declares.


	6. this could be hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this, let's assume H.G.'s teachers know about Christina, but the rest of the school doesn't.

“Leena is going to be busy tomorrow,” Helena begins and Myka tilts her head inquisitively, if distractedly. She's multitasking, Skyping with Helena and polishing an essay (and researching it. And actually writing it.) but she's still tired from her fencing tournament earlier today. (The trophy proclaiming her the victor sits atop her bookshelf, next to others of its kind. Myka Bering is nothing if not efficient in her violence.) “And – are you asleep?”

 

Myka jerks straight up in her chair. She can't be, she's got work to hand in tomorrow. “Nope!”

 

“I shan't keep you much longer,” Helena promises with an indulgent smile, and continues. “Leena won't be here tomorrow, and I need someone to look after Christina.”

 

“Oh.” Myka pauses, giving up on her essay for now. “Do you want me to do it?”

 

Helena shrugs, a little shy. “I was hoping.”

 

“Sure.” Myka smiles, stifling a yawn. “Christina's a sweet kid.”

 

“You may wish to revise your opinion,” Helena mumbles. At Myka's raised eyebrow she explains, “I will probably have to remain past her bedtime – which is 8 o'clock _exactly_ , by the way _–_ and my little one can't quite stomach the idea of sleep.”

 

“How bad could it be?” Immediately, some fatalistic sixth sense prickles down Myka's spine and she just knows she'll regret saying that. She changes the subject quickly. “Where are you going, anyway?”

 

“Community service,” Helena answers simply, and Myka is surprised by the surge of guilt in her stomach. “Professor Brown decided one hundred hours was a sufficient punishment.”

 

“But you have a _child_ ,” Myka protests. She does not want to be the one responsible for taking Helena away from her daughter.

 

“Yes, I imagine that is why he is being so lenient,” Helena says, smiling in a way that's meant to be reassuring but Myka worries at her lower lip anyway. Helena deserves the hours for cheating on a project, and Myka knows that, but...she's pretty sure she read somewhere that the ages of zero to five are vital in the formation of children and parental presence is a major portion of that. But it's only fair for Helena to be disciplined. But Christina needs her mother.

 

It's right, but it's not right at all, and Myka doesn't know how to process this. Just once, she thinks wearily, massaging her temples. Just once, she wishes things could be simple with Helena.

 

She's saved from her thoughts when the door creaks. For a second Myka thinks it's her own door and wonders why her roommate is still awake, but then she sees a triangle of light spill into Helena's darkened room and feels her jaw drop as a curly-haired child pokes her head in.

 

“Hi, mummy!” Christina exclaims, looking immensely pleased about her daring escape from the confines of her bed.

 

Helena groans, swivelling around to face the intruder. “ _Christina_ ,” she says reprovingly, but the little girl's attention has already wandered.

 

“Hi, Myka!” Christina waves a stuffed bunny Myka hasn't seen before – she wonders if this toy is called Miss Doll – and smiles toothily.

 

“To bed, young lady,” Helena says sternly, before Myka can do much more than smile and wave back. To her credit, Christina only pouts for a second before turning back around and skipping out the door. Apparently, she only wanted the attention. Myka shakes her head and tries to wipe all trace of admiration off her face (She can't help herself, okay, half the time Christina acts like a really cute kitten with an unfortunate fondness for sitting on its owner's head) before Helena sees.

 

Helena watches Christina go in the webcam, lips pursed in a way that Myka knows will spell trouble for Christina tomorrow. How does one punish an unruly two year old, Myka wonders. Time-outs? taking away their favourite doll? initiating A Very Serious Discussion, Young Lady? She resolves to look it up – frankly, it's surprising she hasn't done so already. Parenting websites should be a good place to start, she thinks, stretching her arms above her head, wincing as her back cracks a little.

 

Not that she is a parent. Or has ever particularly wanted to be. It's just that...Helena is alone _,_ raising a toddler, _alone,_ and Myka knows that has to be hard – thirty year olds with spouses and jobs dedicate whole _novels_ to it – and Myka can't stop imagining the difficulties Helena must face, despite her family's money and Leena's help.

 

“One last thing,” Helena says, breaking Myka out of her reverie. “My parents suggested that we ought to take our spring vacation a week earlier than we usually do.”

 

“Mm,” Myka doesn't quite succeed in covering up a yawn this time. “Leena mentioned it yesterday.”

 

“Actually, I believe she said our vacation would be a week longer than usual.” Myka's forehead creases as she realizes the truth in Helena's words, then wonders why the distinction is so important. “Which is still true, but we'll be leaving on the twenty-seventh of February as opposed to the second of March.” Myka sits straight up in her chair, fatigue momentarily forgotten.

 

“You'll be leaving in two days?”

 

Helena nods, watching Myka carefully. “I've agreed to it. My brother, Charles, is only available for that first week and not seeing him is tantamount to not going, as far as Christina is concerned. Also, this way the vacation won't cut as deeply into my coursework.”

 

“Oh,” Myka says, chewing on her lower lip.

 

“I know two weeks a large stretch of time, but...,” Helena trails off, and the slight upturn of her lips says more than words could.

 

Helena _wants_ to go early, Myka realizes. She _wants_ to see her brother again. And then Myka feels like a complete idiot because _of course_ she does. And Helena occasionally gets homesick for London, she knows that. “Oh,” Myka repeats. “Well, have fun for me. We'll Skype, right?” Helena tilts her head curiously and Myka rushes to clarify, fingers twisting nervously in her lap. “I don't mean like every single night because obviously you'll be busy, but you know. On occasion. When you have time.”

 

“Myka,” Helena says softly and Myka can't quite bring herself to meet Helena's eyes. “I am going to miss you.”

 

Myka, in the privacy of her own room and with Helena as her only witness, melts. “H.G.” she begins softly, and stops, noticing the flush upon the other girl's cheeks. “Helena," she finishes softly and watches in fascination as Helena reddens in earnest, running her fingers through her hair. Myka bites her lip to hide a smile and changes the subject. “Hey, you know, orange juice calms Christina right down -” she begins, eager to share a tip she learned firsthand at the park yesterday, then abruptly kills the sentence. She is actually giving advice about Christina to Christina's mother. “...and obviously you know that,” she finishes awkwardly. She sinks down into her chair, cheeks burning, and wishes for a very large hole to open up in the ground and swallow her whole.

 

Helena presses her lips together, and her eyes shine with amusement and something else when she whispers, “I'll see you tomorrow evening, then.” Myka manages a wavering smile, leaning into the screen even as Helena cuts the connection.

 

 

*

 

 

“And remember, my cell phone will always be on,” Helena finishes. She stands in the foyer of her house with the sun streaming in through the big windows on either side of the front door. She cuddles Christina closer to her, worry shining out of her eyes. Myka, standing a few paces in front of her, sighs.

 

“Mummy,” Christina whines, twisting a little. Helena kisses the soft hairs at her temple and Christina squirms more, leaning in to plant a sloppy, little girl kiss on Helena's cheek, at which Helena laughs merrily. There's a sudden clench in Myka's chest and abruptly she feels she's too far away – or maybe _they're_ too far away, Helena and Christina, and for a second she can't breathe, thinking she might never be able to cross that distance and hold them in her arms.

 

“Myka?” Helena asks, watching her with concern.

 

Myka takes a deep, if shaky, breath to clear her head. “Don't worry about us,” she orders, squeezing Helena's hand where it rests on Christina's side, just to feel their combined warmth under her hand. It helps with the tight feeling in her chest, and she winks at Christina to distract herself further. Christina eagerly attempts to copy her, to humorous results. Myka wrinkles her nose and shakes her head, at which Christina giggles, then shyly ducks her head into her mother's neck. Helena rolls her eyes very slightly at their antics but her eyes are bright, and it gives Myka the confidence to promise, “It'll be fine.”

 

 

*

 

 _Fine_ is the last thing it is.

 

“Holy c – _cows_ ,” she says.

 

“Myka, look!” Christina exclaims, and if she'd just painted the Mona Lisa, she couldn't look more smug.

 

Myka can't _not_. “I'm – I'm looking,” she croaks.

 

The living room is a mess.

 

There is play-doh everywhere _._ And she doesn't just mean on the floor and some stuck onto the arms of chairs and maybe a glob or two on the walls, she means _there is play-doh everywhere._

 

Wherever play-doh can conceivably be, it is _._ In fact, there is a thin string of play-doh hanging from the ceiling fan. Myka isn't sure how it even got up there, because there is no earthly way a child who isn't even three feet tall could have reached that far.

 

She had only been gone for two minutes. She had gone to the kitchen. To get a glass of orange juice for an unusually hyper Christina. _Two minutes._

 

Myka drags her gaze back down to Christina, whose clothes are just barely visible underneath all the play-doh (mostly yellow and blue, which blends together to create an altogether unpleasant shade of puke green) and remembers the prickly feeling of dread that crept down her spine during her Skype chat with Helena. Foreshadowing, she supposes.

 

“What happened to the sweet shy kid you used to be?” Myka mumbles, caught between amusement and wariness. She swoops Christina up into her arms for a bath.

 

There's a squelch as Christina's play-doh clad clothes come into contact with Myka's body and Myka freezes in horror. To the best of her knowledge, play-doh is generally a dry toy.

 

Two baths, she decides, studiously refusing to look down. Maybe three.

 

 

*

 

 

Myka wakes slowly. It takes her a few seconds to adjust to the darkness, and bring into focus yellow ducks on light blue fleece.

 

It had been a struggle and a half to get Christina into these pajamas, and then to get her onto her big girl bed. But! three stories, two stern eyebrow raises, and one slightly desperate “What would Mummy say?” later, Myka managed to get Christina to settle down for sleep. She smiles drowsily at the stuffed bunny clutched protectively in Christina's hand. The other is placed trustingly in hers. (She'd given her hand for Christina to hold sometime between checking under the bed for monsters and reading _Curious George Visits the Zoo_.) Christina doesn't have an alarm clock in her room, but Myka knows she should get up, maybe go wait in the living room for Helena to come back, but the room is warm, and Christina breaths are soft and slow and lulling her back to sleep.

 

She doesn't realize Helena has already returned until she hears the rocking chair creak.

 

Myka blinks her eyes wider, and raises her heavy head until she can see Helena, who leans forward in the rocking chair and she looks –

 

She is pale in this light, ethereal, and Myka makes out first the sharp edges, her nose, the jut of her knuckles partially hidden beneath a slightly upturned chin, fingers of her other hand curling somehow sensuously around the arm of the chair. There are parts of her still in shadow, but not her eyes, and Myka is captivated. Pools of umber, filled with indescribable warmth and tenderness, catch her gaze and sear through layers of flesh and bone straight through to the pounding red muscle in Myka's chest, and Myka is halfway off the bed (carefully, very carefully, so as not to wake the child she was curled around) before she knows it. She takes one last look at the peacefully sleeping child, and tiptoes after Helena out into the hall.

 

“Hello.” Helena's voice is soft and slightly raspy, and with a painful clench inside her, Myka is reminded she won't be hearing this voice for two weeks.

 

Myka smiles, but it's stilted. Her restless gaze falls upon Christina's door, still partially open, and Myka reaches to close it, only to have Helena's hand still hers on the doorknob.

 

“Christina is afraid of the dark,” Helena explains. She looks tired, but Myka thinks she looks beautiful, and _real_. “The nightlight helps, but she also needs the door to not be closed all the way.”

 

Myka lets her hand drop from the doorknob and studies her Vans and she breathes through the same crippling agitation that attacked her earlier in the evening. When is she going to get this _right_?

 

In some part of her mind, Myka recognizes it's ridiculous to expect to know everything about Helena and Christina after barely a month. That doesn't stop her from wishing she does, from wishing she had been there for every little thing in Helena Wells's life.

 

But that's no good either, because if Helena and Myka had known each other from the start, would Christina even have been born?

 

Myka adores Christina – she's the most headstrong child she's ever met, but she's also the sweetest. Myka would never want to wish Christina out of existence.

 

“Myka?”

 

“Yeah,” Myka says, looking up quickly.

 

“Say something.” Helena's smile is weak, slightly shaky.

 

“Nothing to say.” Myka's attempt is not much better than Helena's.

 

Frustration is evident in the brusque way Helena combs back her hair. “You're being distant.”

 

It's just the faintest hint of accusation, but defensiveness rises swiftly within her. “I'm just thinking.”

 

“Thinking I ought to cancel the trip?” Helena shoots back.

 

Myka blinks, caught off guard. “What?”

 

Helena deflates, then she laughs without humour and she looks away. “I'm not sure,” she admits quietly.

 

Myka is silent for a while. “You – don't you _want_ to go to London?”

 

Say no, Myka thinks. Say you want to stay here.

 

But that's ridiculous, and she knows it. And Myka tries to tamp down on her guilt because she wants Helena _here_ , not gone – not for two days, not for two weeks.

 

“I don't –” Helena bites down on her bottom lip in a way Myka's sure Helena learned from her. She looks small all of a sudden, unsure.

 

So Myka takes a breath and Myka reaches for Helena's hand. Helena grasps it, tentatively at first, then tighter, with more certainty.

 

“I don't want tomorrow to come,” Helena says, staring down at their joined hands.

 

Myka exhales, slowly. Me either, she thinks, leaning back – onto Christina's door.

 

Which, being open to begin with, naturally swings open, and there's a moment of silent, panicked flailing as Myka and Helena try to keep Myka upright and try not to wake Christina up.

 

It's over before Myka can really think about it, and she scrambles across the hall, standing in the middle, pointedly _not_ leaning on any walls or doors. She watches Helena close the door carefully, checking Christina's bed for signs of movement.

 

When Helena turns back, her mouth is a perfectly straight line, but her eyes glitter tellingly and Myka groans, covering her eyes with a hand.

 

“I can't believe you're laughing at me,” she grumbles, and goes to fold her arms but finds Helena stepping into her instead. She's pretty sure Helena is surprised by how tightly Myka holds on. But Helena doesn't say anything, only turns her head to the side as far as she can and her mouth catches against the corner of Myka's ear before she rests her chin on Myka's shoulder again.

 

And Myka presses her lips into Helena's shoulder and keeps in all the words she doesn't know how to let out.

 

 

*

 

 

Myka is on time – early, even – which is why it is so frustrating to be lost right now.

 

She looks hopelessly up at the map, feeling a headache coming on from the sheer number of rooms and floors.

 

God, she hates airports.

 

Finally, she spies a box labelled _Departures_ on the large map, consults her hand-held map, and sets off, speed walking through the spacious hallways. She finds it eventually, with much help from a kindly airport employee, and she arrives, panting unattractively and overheated even in the cool of the air conditioning.

 

Helena, at least, is easy enough to spot, with the (slightly flimsy looking) yellow umbrella stroller next to her. Her back is to Myka, and she's hunched over a kiosk. Printing her ticket, Myka assumes.

 

“Helena!” Myka says when she's close enough, and feels the first true smile of the day split her face when Helena turns to look at her. “Hey.”

 

“Myka,” Helena says into Myka's jacket, holding on impossibly tight just for a second before stepping away. “Myka, hello.”

 

“Hi,” Myka repeats, and the grin on her face is completely unmanageable right now, but she can't bring herself to care.

 

“D'you mind?” Helena scowls at the machine and Myka bites down on a laugh. “I can't quite -”

 

“Go ahead,” Myka says. She stoops to check on Christina. “Hey,” she says quietly.

 

“Hi.” Christina's voice is nothing less than a grumble and Myka coos sympathetically.

 

“Aw, you're tired, huh? It's okay, you're going on such a cool trip! Going to go see you grandma, and your grandpa, and your uncle.” Myka rambles and Christina only shrugs, clearly grouchy about the early hour. Myka laughs softly, brushes her hand over Christina's soft hair and feels everything spill out of her in a great big rush. “Take care of your mom for me, okay? And be good on the plane, I know it's gonna be a long, boring flight. And don't play with play-doh when you get to your grandparents' place. I know it's fun but I found some behind my _ear_ this morning, okay, Christina, it gets really messy and – Christina?”

 

Soft little snores issue from Christina's half open mouth and Myka feels her heart turn to goo.

 

“Myka.”

 

Myka starts. She looks up to find Helena leaning against the machine, two tickets in her hand, and gazing down at them. She holds a hand out to Myka.

 

“You look about as tired as Christina,” Myka says, allowing Helena to pull her up.

 

“I am,” Helena laughs softly. “Thank you for putting her to sleep, by the way. She's been very cranky.”

 

“According to _Parenting Now_ , children don't like having their routines changed too much,” Myka recites on autopilot.

 

Helena looks surprised, then pleased. “I believe I've read that article as well,” she says.

 

“What time is your flight?” Myka asks, though she knows already, it's been running through her mind since Helena told her last night.

 

“We ought to check our luggage in ten minutes,” Helena says quietly.

 

“I – you -” Myka stops. She looks up at the ceiling and blinks hard, and when she looks back down it's to see Helena looking worriedly at her.

 

“What's the matter?” Helena asks softly.

 

I don't want you to leave, Myka thinks, staring down at Helena's fingers as they toy idly with the cuff of Myka's jacket. “I'm just -” She pauses once again, and she hates how it's so hard to say something as simple as _I'll miss you_ , but it is, and it's doubly hard with Helena looking up at her with such concern and such affection. She wishes she were Pete, just for an instant. He is warm and loving and capable of saying such small things. And Helena deserves someone who is capable of saying such small things.

 

“Be safe,” is what she settles on, after a brief but violent struggle between the Myka that adores Helena beyond all reason and the Myka that still hasn't moved on from the pain of having to say goodbye to a loved one.

 

Helena hasn't even left yet but already Myka feels the hole in her life.

 

“I will,” Helena says. “Of course I will.” She pulls Myka to her, and Myka goes willingly, slipping her hands into Helena's unbuttoned jacket and feeling the warmth of her back. Her head fits into the crook of Helena's neck and she holds on tight, so tight, and steps back.

 

“You should go check your luggage,” she says, gesturing to the two bags on the cart in front of Helena. “I was looking up travelling with children on planes and everyone said having a stroller lengthens the process of checking in and out of baggage claims.”

 

Helena blinks slowly up at her, lips slightly parted like she's just realizing something. “Of course,” she murmurs.

 

Myka presses a kiss to the corner of Helena's mouth, mindful of the curious gazes of passersby.

 

(There aren't very many, probably because Helena's flight takes off at what Claudia calls “the asscrack of dawn”, but Myka feels the looks anyway.)

 

She lingers regardless, feeling the warmth of Helena's skin underneath her mouth, the way she smiles and breathes a laugh, ruffling Myka's curls. “Please be safe,” Myka says again, mumbling it against Helena's cheek.

 

Helena's hands come up to cradle Myka's face, and Myka feels her eyes flutter shut. She concentrates on the warmth, the tenderness of the hold, and just for a second, lets herself pretend Helena isn't saying goodbye.

 

 

*

 

"Thought you could use a friendly face," Pete says, carelessly dropping his backpack next to his wet winter boots. Normally Myka would make him place his boots neatly on the shoe rack– normally she'd shoot him an acerbic comment on how the keys to her apartment were supposed to be for emergencies only– but today she barely looks up from the window.

 

She hears footfalls as he creeps forward cautiously.

 

“Everything okay?”

 

“No,” she replies flatly.

 

“Oh,” he says. “Anything I can do to cheer you up? Because, I mean, I found this great milkshake place and I _know_ you don't eat sugar, but they sell fro-yo, too, so you can do the whole “I'll eat this but I won't like it” thing that you do...” he trails off when Myka slips past him and sinks into the couch.

 

“Hey,” he says, softer. “I know you miss H.G.'s fine self – by the way, don't think I'm not still mad that it took me walking in on you two for you to tell me about you two like two days ago.” Pete pauses to think about it and says, “That sentence totally made sense, so don't even try.” Myka rolls her eyes and Pete recovers his train of thought admirably, coming to sit next to her on the couch. “ _But_ H.G.'s gonna be back in two weeks, and then you can...you know,” he ends eloquently.

 

“Helena has a baby,” Myka says, completely out of the blue, and Pete nearly chokes on his own tongue.

 

“Wow,” he croaks. “Mykes, is – is there something you haven't been telling me? You know, I mean, I'd still love you if you were a dude, and -”

 

“What?” Myka goggles at Pete. “ _What?”_

 

Pete blinks, looking decidedly less nonplussed than he should. “Unless I'm missing something,” he begins slowly. “You can't get pregnant without one person having the – y'know.” Myka's stony countenance hides abject horror, but Pete takes it as his cue to continue. “The – y'know. Proper equipment.”

 

Myka couldn't have leaped off the couch faster if it had been on fire. “Pete! I do not want to discuss -” she nearly chokes on the word, “ _penises_ with you!”

 

Pete holds up his hands in surrender. “I'm just saying -”

 

“ _Stop_ just saying!” There is a valiant attempt to stop herself from screaming and Myka continues, calmer. “Helena has a daughter. Already. Her name is Christina Wells and she's turning three next month and _I am not her father._ ”

 

Pete tilts his head thoughtfully. “Okay,” he says, and Myka dares to hope they might finally be getting somewhere. “But how come I didn't know about this?”

 

Myka's face falls. “Ah, Pete, I wanted to tell you but -”

 

“But it wasn't your thing to tell?” Pete supplies and Myka smiles sadly.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“A kid.” Pete blows out a breath and leans against the couch, nodding absently.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Wouldn'ta expected it from someone like H.G..”

 

Myka bristles a little. “She was young,” she defends, and Pete nods.

 

“Still a surprise,” he points out, as gently as he can.

 

Myka and Pete sit (or, in Myka's case, stand and tap feet restlessly) quietly for a few minutes until Myka breaks the silence with a defeated sigh. “I don't think I can do this,” she admits, arms folded like she's trying to hold herself together.

 

“Can't do what?” Pete blinks owlishly. “You can do anything, Mykes.”

 

With great effort, Myka stills the trembling of her chin. “I'm only twenty-one,” she explains. She paces, and Pete watches cautiously. “I mean, it's just – _crazy._ ” Myka stares wide-eyed at him, willing him to understand.

 

Empathy, if not comprehension, dawns on Pete's face. “It'll be okay,” Pete says.

 

“No, it won't! It's insane! It's a _family_! And I'm not even ready to help take care of Deb's _dog_ , how am I supposed to -” she breaks off, gesticulating wildly before finding more grievances to air. “It's like whoever is writing the story of my life think I'm twice my age! And I am not ready for – for _any_ of this.”

 

“It'll be okay,” Pete says, and maybe it's the repetition, but Pete seems like the steadiest thing in her life right now and she sinks into him, lets him wrap a protective arm around her shoulders.

 

“Pete, I didn't even tell her I was going to miss her. I couldn't even do that, Pete!” The tears come now, hot and steady, and Pete pulls her tight to him, crushing her against his chest. “How'm I supposed to give them what they need, I couldn't even do _that_. Pete, I couldn't even do that.”

 

“It'll be okay,” Pete says, and holds her until she stops shaking.


	7. it could be paradise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, you will be subjected to a long author's note, it's the final chapter and THIS IS MY DUE. So first of all, you guys are great; thank you so, so, so much for your comments/kudos/general awesomeness. And second, if ever I post another one shot saying something like 'i have written literally nothing else for this, but i kinda want to continue should i?' your responsibility as citizens of the Earth is to message me and say 'WHAT. DO YOU NOT REMEMBER LAST TIME? A STORY YOU THOUGHT WOULD BE LOOSELY CONNECTED ONE SHOTS ABOUT MYKA AND HG GETTING IT ON IN VARIOUS COLLEGE ENVIRONS (sex in the library really appealed to me, not gonna lie – don't include this part) TURNED INTO A SEVEN CHAPTERS OF MYKA FREAKING OUT OVER BABY!CHRISTINA WHO IS CANONICALLY DEAAAAD'.
> 
> I appreciate your cooperation in this Very Serious matter. Enjoy.

The kitchen smells amazing, but Myka is far too focused on her task to notice. She sticks her head into the oven (it is turned off, she's not stupid), appraising the way the cheese has melted on top of the lasagna and, deeming it satisfactory, pulls out the dish. She turns, only to remember that the counter is packed with food in various containers and steadily growing stacks of dirty dishes – she and Deb really need to buy themselves a rack. There is, however, a small space between a tray of iced cupcakes and aforementioned stack of dirty dishes, and Myka uses her elbows to make some room for her lasagna. It requires an awkward, twisting sort of side to side dance but she does it, and Pete wanders in just in time to place a towel underneath the pan.

 

Myka smiles her thanks at the makeshift coaster. “When did you get in?” she asks. Pete plops down on a rickety old stool – which Myka reminds herself to stow away somewhere, she wants Christina nowhere near it – and goes to double check that all the appropriate drinks are in the fridge.

 

“Just now,” Pete replies, yawning. Myka nods absently, cataloging the one litre bottles that line the bottom shelf – cream soda and Dr. Pepper and tonic water and apple juice, all present and accounted for. Myka closes the door with a satisfied thunk and flits across the kitchen to reassure herself that the potato chips she bought early this morning haven't disappeared. She skims the labels – barbeque, all dressed, ketchup, sour cream and onion, salt and pepper,regular, regular with ridges, lightly salted. Yes, she is well prepared.

 

She even has Pete-distractors, a platter of chips and dip that sit invitingly on the counter so he won't be tempted by the food sitting on the dining table the food before the guests arrive.

 

“This is a lot of food, Mykes,” Pete says, casting an appreciative glance around. He's not wrong – food, homemade or otherwise, covers almost every flat surface in the tiny kitchen Myka and Deb share. There's even a plate of cookies on top of the fridge because there was no room elsewhere. “How many people are going to be here, anyway?”

 

“Just me, you, Leena, and of course H.G. and Christina.”

 

Pete pauses with a chip halfway to his mouth. “Just us?” Pete asks in surprise. Myka shrugs.   
“Not much of a party. Why isn't Claudia or Joshua or someone here too?

 

“Well, who else knows about Christina? Even Helena's neighbours aren't sure.”

 

“You mean to tell me I'm going to be the only guy in a room full of girls?” Pete demands. “Awes – whoa, hello there.”

 

“Pete, if you drool on the furniture I swear I will punch you.”

 

“Hey, my BFF makes a porno, I'm allowed to look!” Pete protests, leering at a particularly enticing platter of croissants.

 

“So you got the toy for Christina?” Myka checks, and to his credit, Pete keeps himself from rolling his eyes.

 

“Yep.”

 

“And remember to act like it's from you,” Myka orders. “I promised H.G. we wouldn't buy each other anything.”

 

“I _know_ ,” Pete says. “You've only reminded me a kagillion bazillion times in two weeks.”

 

“Okay. Okay,” Myka exhales noisily. “Okay. So, Leena's due here with H.G. and Christina in an hour and a half -”

 

“Wait wait wait, did they just get back today? Isn't London like six hours behind us?”

 

“Ahead. No, they got back yesterday but I didn't want to have the party then because, you know, jet lag and everything.” Myka continues her original train of thought, “And Deb is in Florida so there's no way she'll walk in on us giving my girlfriend and my girlfriend's baby a welcome back party. So that's good.” She breathes in and out again, and picks up the final dish. “You know, you're here pretty early, for you.”

 

“Whaddaya mean, early _for_ _me_?” Pete takes up the dish rag and starts drying. “It's 11. A.M.! How much earlier does it get?”

 

“Hey, I've been doing this for three hours.” Myka rolls her eyes, handing him another dish.

 

“You were up at 8?” Pete sounds unreasonably impressed.

 

Myka bats at the hand sneaking towards a chocolate cupcake. “I was up at 5,” she corrects. “Couldn't sleep,” she adds sheepishly.

 

Pete whistles. “You must really love her.”

 

Myka leans over to smack at Pete's hand, and he pulls away from the icing bowl with an outraged yelp. “There's still the living room to decorate,” she informs him archly.

 

Pete pouts rubs his hand, but doesn't mention what Myka ignored. Which she'll probably pay for later, she figures. But for now –

 

“Let's get cracking!” Pete exclaims.

 

*

 

The living room has been fully decorated, food has been placed into appropriate containers, maximum effort has been made to match chairs to dining table. Everything is set.

 

And then of course, because the universe hates her, when Myka goes to wipe her hands, she discovers her jeans are streaked with drying chocolate, brown-black and peeling against the denim. Leena is due to bring Helena and Christina over in approximately thirty seconds and there is _no_ _way_ they can see her like this.

 

She turns to Pete, pleading. “I need to go change can you answer the door I'll be real quick okay?”

 

“What? Hey, wait!” he calls, but Myka is already sliding down the hall.

 

Thirty seconds pass far, far quicker when one is in a rush, something Myka discovers when she runs into her room and hears a loud knock. Soon after is a muffled _Surprise!_ and Pete cheering from the living room, enough noise for a whole crowd. Myka groans in despair.

 

Panicking, she shimmies out of her clothes and snatches up the nearest thing in her wardrobe. She runs to the mirror and stares for a second, paralyzed. Does she have time to run a brush through her hair? She should be out there welcoming Helena and Christina back home – but she also should look less like she just rolled out of bed. A quick brush through it is. She doesn't register that she's wearing a dress until she's halfway down the hall and it's far too late to change.

 

Pete and Leena are sitting on the couch when Myka walks into the living room, but Helena and Christina are nowhere in sight. Before Myka can really worry, Leena catches sight of her and waves. Manners take over, and she heads towards them, fidgeting nervously with the hem of her dress, a periwinkle blue thing that flares out just slightly past mid-thigh. She tells herself she's not overdressed. In fact, most girls would consider this no fancier than a spring dress. It's is a solid colour, with a round neckline and little cap sleeves. She is not overdressed.

 

Pete's back is to her, though she can hear him speaking animatedly. “Yeah,” she hears him say. “Mykes did most of the cooking and the cleaning today, and – oh man, have you tried her lasagna yet? It's like the one thing she knows how to make and ohmy God, it's – _ugh_.” Pete tips his head all the way back, mouth moving soundlessly. Beside him, Leena looks vaguely amused, which seems to be her default expression the few times she has been confronted with a chatty Pete Lattimer. “But hey, you know what, I hung up that sign,” Pete points toward the _Welcome Back!_ banner draped across the wall. “All by myself, and Myka only had to fix one side of it. Not that I'm bragging, but that is _quite_ the accomplishment, considering how ana -”

 

“Hi, Myka!” Leena says quickly, and Pete chortles . “Good to see you again!”

 

“Hi, Leena.” Myka accepts the hug and smiles. “Nice to see you, too.”

 

“So now I'm dying to try your lasagna,” Leena tells her with a laugh and Pete nods in approval, sipping at his Coke.

 

She mutters a thanks and Pete says, “Welcome back, Mykes. Thanks for ditching me, not that I'm bitter or anything.”

 

“Shut up, Pete,” Myka says absently, craning her neck for any sight of H.G. or Christina.

 

“Unnecessary rudeness right now, Mykes.” He wags a finger at her. “And I was just about to tell you how nice you look.”

 

“Helena and Christina are just in the kitchen,” Leena interjects, smiling kindly at Myka. “H.G.'s calling her parents. Let me go and find them.”

 

“Oh, no, I can -”

 

“No, no,” Leena insists. “Pete's been telling me how hard you've been working to set this party up. I'll go get them for you, okay? Rest, relax.”

 

“It's a tiny apartment, I don't -” Myka protests, but Leena is halfway to the kitchen. Myka purses her lips and flops down on the couch. “Oh, wow,” she says, sinking into the cushions. Her fatigue catches up with her all of a sudden and she stretches out with a groan, feeling her muscles pull and relax.

 

“You excited to see H.G. again?” Pete asks, looking at her over top of his giant cup of pop.

 

Myka feels a grin tug at her lips before she quite gives permission. “ Yeah, of course. Skype just isn't the same, you know?”

 

Pete hums in agreement, watching Myka jiggle her knee. “Impatient or nervous?”

 

Myka looks at him in surprise. “I'm – what?”

 

“Because you look more nervous than anything,” he continues, as though she hadn't spoken. “You wanna share with the class?”

 

“I'm – I'm not nervous.” Myka pauses. “Well, I mean, I am but it's not because of Helena. Okay, no obviously it's because of Helena, but it's not like, Helena did anything wrong, you know, it's just that – she's been acting kind of strange on Skype. Like, not the usual amount of eye contact.” She winces, because if that's not the weirdest thing to notice, she's not sure what is. “I don't know.”

 

“Is everything okay with her?” Pete asks, leaning forward curiously, but Myka is already shaking her head.

 

“Yeah, I'm probably just reading too much into it. I'm glad to have her back home.”

 

Pete is quiet for a second. Then, “She must really like you, huh? I mean, if I had a kid, I wouldn't let just anyone within a ten foot radius of her. And I know you said you found out about Christina by accident, but I would've just – distanced myself. Right there, but she didn't.” Pete slurps thoughtfully at his drink and Myka looks on, speechless. “And if I were _you_ , I would've split the second my girlfriend told me she had a kid. Like, Usain Bolt woulda got nothing on me.” Myka shifts and Pete's eyes flick to her and away. “If I did stick around, and if I tried to get to know the kid, that's how I'd figure it was -”

 

“Pete.”

 

Pete leans back on the couch. “I'm just saying, Mykes. You should be more confident in your relationship.”

 

“I am confident!” Myka protests.

 

He squints. “You were just over analyzing the amount of eye contact she made with you on a Skype chat.”

 

Myka sputters, “Pete! I – I well, I mean, there's kind of a lot at stake here, if I screw up.”

 

“Whoa, Mykes, you're not going to screw up.” Pete stares at her, shocked.

 

Myka has had two weeks on her own to adjust to the fact that Helena and Christina are very much a package deal, and she has. What worries Myka now is that she will be lacking in some way, and fail to give Christina or Helena something they need. Actually, it terrifies her, which might show on her face because Pete squeezes her knee and smiles.

 

“I dunno, Pete,” she mutters.

 

“Well, if you want to be there for them so much, what's stopping you?”

 

Myka recoils at the challenging tone. “Nothing's stopping me; I made enough food to feed an army of _you_ for weeks! I'm there!”

 

“There you go then!”

 

“Exact – wait, what?”

 

Pete sips his drink, making the action seem smug and Myka stares at him, not sure if she should be angry or –

 

“Hi hi!”

 

Christina is already trying to climb up Myka's legs by the time Myka turns, ever present stuffed bunny clutched tight in her hand.

 

“Christina.” Myka says, sitting up. She pulls the little girl into her arms and buries her face in Christina's soft yellow sweater. “Oh, I missed you.”

 

“Me too,” Christina whispers right against her ear, in the too-loud way of toddlers. Myka pulls back and Christina's eyes shine dark and bright like her mother's and Myka cradles the little girl close, breathing in her sweet baby smell.

 

“I went to London!” Christina exclaims, booted feet dangling off Myka's knees. They catch her shins as they kick absently but Myka can't bring herself to mind.   
  


“Oh, wow! And did you have fun?”

 

“Yup.” Christina nods. “Next time you come, too. We can visit Buck-in-um Palace.” Myka laughs delightedly, and marvels at how very quickly Christina picks up grammar and pronunciation. In the next breath she finds herself wrapping her arms tighter around Christina, worrying the little girl is growing up without her. She hasn't had much one-on-one time with Christina, because six hours is a ridiculous time difference and the little girl was in bed whenever Myka was just getting home from school. So in the two weeks the Wellses were in London, they communicated mostly through Helena and on one occasion, a letter, written by Helena and dictated solely by Christina. (It occupies a place of honour on her desk, and more than a week later, Myka still grins every time she catches sight of it.) “A whole queen lives there,” Christina finishes earnestly.

 

“A whole queen?” Myka asks, and tries to keep herself from sounding too falsely surprised, she hates it when people do that to children, but Christina doesn't seem to mind. In fact, she nods very seriously and allows Myka to cover her with kisses once more.

 

A throat clears. “Hey there, Christina,” Pete says, and both Myka and Christina jolt. Pete pauses in the middle of waving to the child and Myka pretends she hadn't forgotten he was sitting there.

 

Christina twists to face the stranger, then promptly tries to burrow into Myka's shirt. Myka laughs, she can't help herself _,_ because Christina really is the cutest. She remembers fondly to when Christina met her for the first time, how Helena had reassured her with a look. Helena is still in the kitchen with Leena, so Myka takes a fortifying breath and shifts Christina in her arms. She waits until the shy toddler looks up at her and murmurs, “It's all right. This is Pete.” Christina stares back at her, not at all convinced, so she continues encouragingly, “He's really nice.”

 

“Nice?” Christina repeats, softly enough that Myka's not sure Pete can hear.

 

“Nice,” she promises, equally as quiet. She smooths a ringlet away from Christina's face and waits for her to make a decision.

 

“I'm not just _nice_ , Myka!” Pete's indignant tone catches Christina's attention immediately, and she watches curiously, still half hidden in Myka's shirt. Pete sits straight up, brimming with wounded pride. “I'm super _duper_ nice. It's true!”

 

Christina laughs, easily charmed, and Myka knows it's going to be okay.

 

“Oh, before I forget.” Pete reaches into his pocket and pulls out a plastic chef doll. “It's Colette Tatou, from Ratatouille, I think. Your Myka told me you like dolls.” He holds the toy out with an encouraging smile. Christina sits immobile, clearly conflicted – on one hand, toy. On the other, relative stranger.

 

Christina twists to face Myka and Myka waits bemusedly as Christina stretches to 'whisper' in her ear. “Nice?”

 

Myka wonders if she'll ever get used to the rush of love whenever Christina looks up at her so trustingly. “Nice,” she agrees, and if her voice is a little hoarse, Pete doesn't say anything.

 

Christina stretches out little arms for the doll, which Pete relinquishes with a silly little bow, making Christina laugh once more.

 

“There was a Ratatouille for sale, too,” Pete says, watching Christina inspect the new toy. “Right next to Colette, but – ew, right? I hate rats.”

 

“Oh?” A smooth voice queries innocently. “How unfortunate. Christina adores rodents.”

 

Myka's eyes flutter shut at the sound, which is ridiculous, but tell that to her body. “Helena.” Now Myka drinks in the sight of her, standing nowhere near the middle of the room but the center of Myka's attention anyway.

 

“Mummy, see?” Christina holds her doll out, as triumphant as if she'd bought it for herself.

 

“I see it, darling.” Helena's eyes crinkle at the edges, a detail the webcam never quite managed to capture properly, and in seeing it, something deep within Myka shifts and settles back into place.

 

Pete clears his throat once more, and it's so obviously awkward in the sudden silence that Myka wants to laugh. “And on that note, I'm gonna go try out that lasagna. Again. Mm, lasagna!” Distantly, Myka hears Christina laugh at the excitement in his voice.

 

“It was very kind of you to buy her something, Pete,” Helena says, sitting down a foot away from Myka, which she doesn't understand at all.

 

“It was Myka's idea,” Pete says easily. “She came up with what to buy, I just had to go out and get it.” Myka attempts to glare and wince apologetically in the same breath.

 

Helena raises an eyebrow. “Is that right? And whatever happened to 'I hate shopping as much as you so let's promise we won't buy any presents for each other'?”

 

“This doesn't count,” Myka says quickly. “It's from Pete. And it's for Christina!”

 

Helena snorts, settling in to argue the point when Leena calls from the kitchen. “Pete, help me make a salad!”

 

“One Pete-chef, headin' your way! Wanna come, Chris?” Pete holds out his hand invitingly and Christina hesitates only for a second before scrambling off Myka's lap.

 

“Careful,” Helena and Myka say as one, but Pete steadies the little girl easily, and trails her into the kitchen. They leave silence in their wake and Myka finds herself staring at the stains on her coffee table and sneaking looks at Helena. She seems to have forgotten about the present Christina isn't supposed to have, and Myka doesn't want to be the one to remind her.

 

“You look lovely,” Helena says finally.

 

Myka looks down at herself in surprise and starts a little, she'd forgotten she's wearing a dress. She fusses with the hem, smoothing out the wrinkles. “It's not too much? I mean, I don't usually wear dresses but this is pretty plain and it's a special occasion, so. I mean, it seemed appropriate. Also, I was wearing really dirty jeans right before you came in, so I needed to change and I also, it turns out, need to do my laundry, so that's why I wasn't there when you -”

 

“Myka.” A cool finger presses against her mouth and Myka breathes deeply, eyes falling shut.

 

“I missed you.” It's easier to say things like this when she doesn't have to look into Helena's chocolate warm eyes, but she finds herself missing the way Helena's mouth quirks up at the corners whenever she's happy. She blinks her eyes open slowly and finds Helena watching her with an inscrutable expression – which she had done on Skype as well, and Myka had thought was the fault of the low quality of her parents' webcam, but now she's here in person and looking at her in the same way. “What is it?” she asks, brow furrowing. “What's wrong?”

 

Helena blinks and the look disappears. “Nothing,” she whispers. “I'm glad to be beside you again.”

 

Myka grins and Helena reaches for her hand. Myka surprises herself when she practically lunges across the sofa to kiss Helena, whose mouth opens invitingly under her assault, her arms coming tight around her. Myka melts into her, remembers anew the softness of Helena's skin and the twist of her tongue as it traces along Myka's teeth.

 

“Sorry,” she mutters when she gathers herself enough to pull back, a blush burning her cheeks. “I didn't mean to just attack you like that.”

 

“Don't apologize,” Helena murmurs, tracing a finger along Myka's cheek. “Not for that.”

 

Myka sees her smile mirrored on Helena's lips, and slides off Helena's lap, mostly gracefully. “How've you been?”

 

“Fine,” Helena replies, turning to face Myka. Myka keeps her hands in her lap, oddly shy now. “Didn't my letter tell you everything?”

 

“That was Christina's letter,” Myka protests, hiding a smile.

 

“Oh, no, what gave it away? Surely not the crayon marks?”

 

The laugh quietly, until Myka reaches for Helena's wrist again, and tugs. Helena comes willingly, shoulder pressing hard into Myka's sternum, Helena's arms slipping around her, and she rests her cheek against Myka's collarbone. Helena releases a sigh at the same time as Myka, and Myka smiles, taken by the warmth and rightness of having Helena's body tight against hers again.

 

She hums softly into Helena's hair, silky strands tickling her nose. “Did I tell you I missed you? Because I missed you.”

 

Helena leans back to cup Myka's face in the gentle way she does, like Myka is something precious. “And I you,” she says earnestly, and Myka darts in for another kiss just before Pete hollers from the kitchen, “Chow time!”

 

“Well, let us make our way to the feast you've prepared,” Helena murmurs, rising from the couch with a grace Myka has missed so much. She offers her hand. Myka takes it and rises, hoping the blush isn't too noticeable.

 

“It's not a feast,” she mumbles. “Just lasagna and some dessert.”

 

“Nonsense. I saw some of it while I was talking with my parents, and I declare the meal fit for a king,” Helena says, leading the way to the kitchen.

 

Myka reminds herself that she is brave, that she is confident in their relationship, and stretches out her hand to snag Helena's fingers in between her own. Helena turns and raises a questioning eyebrow, at which Myka simply shrugs. “They know anyway,” she offers.

 

“They do.” Helena smiles, and squeezes her hand. They walk into the kitchen hand in hand and Myka is surprised and pleased to find that she is not scared, not even uncomfortable by the looks Pete and Leena give them – first curious, then warm and supportive. It's progress, she thinks, helping Leena finish setting up Christina's highchair. She's not too proud of herself just yet, she knows she has a long way to go – but she's on her way. And that, Myka thinks, looking over at her laughing family, is the important thing.

 

*

 

It's finally warming up in South Dakota – which is to say there's still snow on the ground but it's melting, and the air is brisk instead of freezing-boogers-in-nose cold. Still, Myka is glad to step inside the warmth of Helena's townhouse.

 

“Hi,” she murmurs and smiles at the vibrations of Helena's “hello” against her lips. She pulls back to regard Helena. Myka is dressed in only jeans and a white t-shirt, but Helena looks vaguely formal with her white button down and tight black pants. “Where's Christina?” The little girl usually likes to make her presence known as soon as someone steps foot into her house.

 

“With Leena,” comes the quiet reply. Helena slips the jacket off Myka's shoulders and leads them into the living room, where she pauses abruptly and stares at the coat in her hands. “I should've hung that up,” she mutters and turns to do so, only to almost walk into Myka. “I – oh! Oh, goodness, I'm sorry, I didn't -”

 

Helena is blushing, Myka realizes with a start. “What's the matter?” she asks. “What's going on?”

 

“I - sit, Myka, please,” Helena says, still staring at the jacket. Gently, carefully, Myka puts her hand on the jacket and tugs Helena over to the couch.

 

“We'll just keep the jacket here,” Myka says, trying for reassuring and getting something more worried. Helena looks up sharply at that and then her shoulders go down, and she smiles – it's forced, Myka notes – and sits in the armchair across from Myka. Myka licks suddenly dry lips as anxiety begin to gnaw at her gut.

 

“Helena,” she says softly, “Please tell me what's bothering you.”

 

“Do you think we ought to take a break, from each other?”

 

Myka's world crashes to a standstill, then in the next breath spins again, and sends Myka careening off the surface. She can't form thoughts but that doesn't stop her throat from working noiselessly as she stares straight ahead.

 

Helena hasn't looked up from her hands. “If that's what, you know, you -”

 

“I agree.” She doesn't realize it's her who has spoken for a second, though she should have, it really couldn't have been anyone else.

 

Across from her, Helena's hand tightens briefly on the arm of the chair then relax. “Well, then,” Helena says. She stands, a movement that should be graceful but comes off abrupt and Myka doesn't – can't – lift her eyes from the belt Helena has on, buckle partially obscured by the soft white button down she's wearing.

 

“Myka, I feel I must tell you -”

 

“No, you're right.” Myka fumbles for her jacket. She doesn't look at Helena. “You're protecting yourself, I get that. I can't give you what you need so you need me to go, I get that. She doesn't look at Helena. “I think you're right. I don't deserve either of you and – maybe one day?” Now she looks up, looks straight at H.G. and keeps her breathing even. “Not that I think you should wait for me, but I swear, Helena if you -” Her voice cracks here and she pauses to regroup. “Just a little, maybe? If you wait just a little while, I'll research everything on how to do this, okay, I'll even ask Pete but please let me -”

 

Myka lets herself look, really look at H.G., for what may be her very last time and H.G. looks horrified.

 

“ _Myka_ ,” she breathes. “Myka, what are you saying? Myka, no, it's not you, I'm the one who -”

 

Myka laughs. Really, honestly laughs. “Helena, we both know it's not you – you're perfect.”

 

“I'm not!” She insists, rising from the chair. “My goodness, no I'm not, I've -”

 

“Helena, I couldn't even tell you I'd miss you!” Helena snaps her jaw shut. “I could tell you, I couldn't tell Christina and I told Pete but you were already in the air and it wasn't Pete who should have known that -”

 

“But I did know,” Helena interrupts quietly. “Myka, I did know.” Myka can't speak past the lump in her throat to question it but Helena smiles reassuringly. “Me, with my past and my unsound judgments and you, so kind and so accepting of all I've thrown at you – of course I knew. Do you remember when you were looking after Christina? You were curled so protectively around her, and the two of you looked – of course I knew.”

 

“Christina didn't,” Myka says, and it's this that has really been troubling her, that she's not capable of being a role model – a parent, good grief, a _parent_ – to a young girl. “She didn't and I couldn't tell her.”

 

“Myka. Dear Myka, sweet Myka.” Helena's voice is low and gentle and not at all what Myka deserves. Helena doesn't seem to care, Helena comes and rubs the nape of Myka's neck, massaging the tense muscles there. “I thought I was being rather noble, you know.” Her tone is playful and Myka knows she's trying to make her look up and meet her eyes. Myka's gaze remains rooted to the floor. “Giving you a graceful way out of a relationship and never mind how brokenhearted I would be never seeing you again.” Myka does look up at this, flabbergasted and Helena turns serious once more. “You must listen to me: the reason – the only reason – I suggested a break is not because I think you're incapable of being there for Christina and I both, it's because I would never want to rope you into something you might regret later.”

 

Myka feels the confusion creep up again. “But I could never regret either of you,” she says guilelessly.

 

Helena captures her mouth in a kiss so unexpected it keeps her off her guard until she's backed against the wall, hands gripping Myka's hips possessively and mouth hot on hers.

 

“I love you,” Myka mumbles when they break for air, a breath away from Helena's lips. “I love you so, so much.”

 

“Show me,” Helena sighs, and Myka tugs Helena towards her and twists them around so that their positions are reversed. She finds she likes the way Helena has to stretch up farther to reach her mouth because Myka is pushing her hips back into the wall and scratching at her sides.

 

Helena resists when Myka tries to pull away, tugging at Myka's shirt, encouraging her to return. “Go upstairs.” Myka's voice is thick and husky and she sees Helena shiver. “We're not – there's a bed and I'm not – our first time won't be against a wall.”

 

Myka's skin feels too tight and her mind is too clouded and she's not sure Helena will listen but then Helena licks her lips and pushes off the wall – hips first, the rest of her body following in a graceful arc. Myka stares, throat dry and she wants to push Helena back against it, wants to swallow the breath that will rush out of Helena, wants, wants, wants.

 

“Is that how it's to be?” A smirk plays around Helena's lips and Myka loves her voice like this, low and smoky and going straight to Myka's centre. “You, ordering me about?” Helena meanders over and Myka has to remind herself to breathe.

 

“Um,” Myka says.

 

“I think I would enjoy that,” Helena confesses, and something in Myka _tugs_ , violently. “I think you would be good at that. But,” Helena continues, like Myka's jaw isn't hanging open uselessly. “I think we'd appreciate it more if you let me take care of you, just this once.”

 

Myka melts. “Helena,” she says quietly, wonderingly. “Helena,” she says again, and cups Helena's cheek, because she always knows what to say. Helena kisses her palm and steps into Myka's arms. Their mouths meet, and Myka sighs into it, nerves alighting all along her body.

 

They trip up the stairs, mouths coming together and breaking apart and coming together again, which is dangerous but neither of them care. Helena almost falls through the open door to her bedroom – “How the tables turn,” Myka teases, and catches Helena when she launches herself at Myka – they stumble into the room, laughing and breathless and together.

 

*

“Helena.”

 

She's lying on her back but she turns a little when she hears her name, nosing against Myka's neck before shifting down in Myka's arms to press a kiss against the hollow of her throat. “Myka,” she murmurs, and Myka shivers and shifts, tangling her legs more securely with Helena's. They're still very much feeling the afterglow, and their movements are slow and languid, maximizing the drag of skin on soft skin.

 

Myka doesn't say anything for a while, just listens to Helena breathe, feels the steady beat of Helena's heart beneath her hand. “You don't mind that I told Pete?”

 

“About Christina?” Helena asks and Myka nods.

 

“No,” Helena says. “I understand that you needed someone to talk to.”

 

“Because I was scared,” Myka clarifies, because she can do this now, she can tell Helena things while looking at her (Mostly. She can only really see Helena's head tucked into Myka's chest and, if she peers farther, hints of the porcelain skin she spent an hour discovering.) Helena hums and the vibrations tickle her neck.

 

“I thought it might be something like that,” Helena says, tracing lines down Myka's forearm.

 

“I'm still kind of scared.” She feels Helena tense very slightly and the sheets slide silkily over her body as Myka props herself up on an elbow and tilts Helena's chin up and kisses her hard, saying _But I would never leave,_ and _I love you_ and _You're stuck with me now_ and a million other things without having to fumble with words.

 

“You make me so happy, you and Christina. And that's that.” Myka says, slinging an arm around Helena's waist.

 

“It is, hm?” Helena brushes a curl off her shoulder, the touch impossibly light.

 

“Yup. I'd be Superman if that's what you needed.” Myka yawns into the crook of Helena's neck.

 

“Did I tire you out, darling?” Helena wonders, and Myka can hear the smirk in her voice.

 

“Shut up,” Myka mumbles halfheartedly, pressing her too-hot cheek against Helena's shoulder. She slips into slumber with a smile tugging at her lips, thinking of how many piggyback rides Christina would demand if Myka really could fly.

 

She's woken a short while later, when Helena slips her arm away from underneath Myka's neck. “Christina's home,” is mumbled against her temple, and Myka shifts, letting the pleasant sound of Helena's voice drift over her. “I won't be a second. Let me just say goodbye to Leena, make sure she received her paycheck.”

 

Myka forces her eyes wider, watching Helena reach for a shirt. “I can hang out with Christina while you're doing that,” she offers.

 

Helena pauses, tugging the shirt out of her jeans. Myka wonders if she should tell Helena that she put on the wrong shirt, then decides to remain silent. She likes the way her clothes look on her, slightly wrinkled, slightly baggy. “That would be wonderful, thank you.”

 

“And I'd like to babysit her more,” Myka adds, before she forgets. “Alone, so I can just get used to it and don't freak out as much over every little thing. Like diapers. Or play-doh.”

 

A warm mouth presses firmly against hers. “You're brilliant,” she's told, and “I love you.”

 

“Be there in a se-” and she cuts herself off because did Helena just – ?

 

She stares, and Helena very briefly looks back at her in the doorway, in Myka's shirt and grinning shyly, which prompts a heartfelt smile from Myka, one she knows is on the verge of splitting her face in half.

 

*

 

Leena leaves to grab an early dinner with Claudia and Pete and Steve. Myka spends the rest of the evening dressing up as Jessie the cowgirl from Toy Story – Christina's latest obsession – and watching Helena attempt to make them a snack. (They had gone to an ice cream parlour, eventually. It seemed the safest option.) It's the best day she's spent in recent memory, and when 8 o'clock rolls around, Myka is still at Helena's, lounging on the sofa while watching Leena and Pete try not to cry.

 

“It's just such a good movie,” Leena mumbles, wiping at her eyes. Myka pats her shoulder, and tries not to laugh.

 

It's not that she's against romantic comedies in any way, it's just that she never expected unflappable Leena to be reduced to a bawling mess over _Water for Elephants._ Pete sits on the other side of Leena, eyes suspiciously shiny as well.

 

“An anti-climatic declaration of love if ever I've seen one,” Helena sniffs, handing the bowl of popcorn to Pete, who clutches it like Christina would her stuffed bunny.

 

“Hey,” Myka laughs, pointing accusingly as Helena makes her way back to Myka's side. “You told me you loved me and left the room. You have no room to judge here.” She appreciates the way both Leena and Pete try to hide the way they almost choked on their drinks.

 

“On the contrary,” Helena says, smirking. “I told you, and you fell asleep.”

 

Leena nearly spews her juice and Pete laughs outright. “That's worse,” he says definitively. “That is so much worse.

 

Myka barely hears them. “You did?” she asks softly, reaching for Helena's hand.

 

“I did,” Helena confirms, and Myka tamps down hard on the urge to kiss her senseless though she knows Helena sees the longing in her, sees the way her eyes flick to Helena's lips and back up to dilated pupils. But she restrains herself, because of Pete and Leena and little Christina, building a Leaning Tower of Pisa out of Lego blocks a few feet away. Helena brushes a kiss across Myka's lips anyway, prompting an 'Ew, gross!' from Pete reminiscent of Christina all those weeks ago. Myka laughs, feeling light and happy, like she could just float away.

 

Pete opens his mouth but Leena cuts him off preemptively. “Sh!” she demands. “This is the best part!”

 

Christina ambles over then, abandoning her Leaning Tower (which is more of a Leaning Pyramid, but no one's had the heart to tell her), and stretches out her arms expectantly. Helena swoops her up and kisses her cheek loudly. She lets Christina crawl from her lap into Myka's, hopefully to settle down for the nap she flat out refused to take earlier in the day. Myka grins and strokes Christina's soft soft hair, pressings a kiss to Helena's head when she, too, leans into Myka's side. Their combined weight grounds her and sends her soaring and she doesn't know if she's ever been fit to burst from happiness before.

 

“Myka?” Christina mumbles her name, half asleep, but determined to see some of the pretty 'ponies'. (She calls elephants ponies. There is actually no way for this child to get cuter, Myka thinks, though she admits she may be biased.) “Nice movie?”

 

Myka looks down in surprise, breathes in and holds it. She resolves to ask Helena is she'll ever stop marveling at the freely given love of a child. “Nice,” she agrees on an exhale.

 

Helena lifts her head long enough to squint at Myka. “One day I want you to tell me when on Earth you two developed your own language.”

 

Myka laughs softly, careful not to disturb Leena or Pete, who are watching with rapt attention. “It's not a language if it's only one word.” Helena makes a disbelieving noise, mutters something like 'of course it is what do you know' and Myka surrenders with a grin. “I'll tell you,” she promises. “Later. We've got time.”

 

Myka feels Helena smile against her shoulder, slow and sure. “All the time in the world,” Helena says.

 

And she's right.


End file.
